Glorious Shotgun Princess: Journeyman
by Gregg Landsman
Summary: Kal'Reegar vas Rayya: Quarian Migrant Fleet Marine. Chosen of Journeys. Autochthon: The God of the Forge and eccentric inventor. Following the resolution of the first phase of the Reaper War, the Titan-cum-God has realized he can fix the Great Curse. But he needs the tools he made- the ones he left in Creation.
1. Chapter 1

**The **disguise was fool proof. He figured out how to use the thick gloves to simulate having three or four fingers, as that seemed to be a variable number amongst the...things which lived here, which seemed to value arguing and politicking over _eating and sleeping._

For the life of him, he is not sure if he will get use to this...bizarre place. This city which puts stories he's heard about Thessia or Illium to shame. Quickly navigating through corridors of wood and gold, past bamboo fences where the wind talks to itself, past lions made of some sort of moving stone, he pulls the hood tighter over his face and keeps the folder pressed firmly against his side.

It has taken weeks for this to get to this point. His careful use of the charm keeps others from even seeing him, passing by as an invisible underling. Even the guards of this area, whatever it is- he never caught the name- do not notice him. He isn't even an intruder to him. He is _nothing._

Even those who see him, who notice him, cannot tell _what_ he is- just a nameless, faceless courier. Certainly not someone who isn't even of this _universe._

It has taken weeks. It has taken months, since this journey has begun. But he finds the office, behind golden doors which radiate warmth, through corridors which flow with power that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But now he stands in the office, now he stands in the fashioned black and gold robes before this...being.

Taller than tall. White hair standing like jagged bolts of electricity and white fire. Shapes of what can only be hardened light hovering around him. In fact, his skin, his hair, his eyes- all seem to be made of the same flowing energy. There is a power in this pale, glowing being he has never seen before. And the white eyes of this one- this _god-_ pierce his disguise without even _effort._

"Hello, Exalted," he says, voice smooth, dignified. Paternal, even. "You've put forth some effort to see me. Why?"

He sighs, and pulls back his hood. Black dreads fall around his face, the pale lavender skin and yellow eyes marking him as, he hopes, different from others in this realm. Perhaps not, though. He's spent time here, after all.

"My name is Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna," he states, "I'm the Chosen of Journeys and-"

The god raises a finger. "Ah. _A_ Chosen of Journeys. There are twenty of you." Deft ivory hands opens a book which _appears_ on the desk. "Mm. Odd, I see no record...yes." He blinks, looking up at Kal. "Yes, indeed. Very interesting." He makes a motion with his hand, gesturing to him. "Continue."

Kal closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm here on an important mission," he says, "Long story short, there's a problem, your help is needed, and I have a friend who needs to consult with you on important matters regarding the Exaltations."

The god cocks an eyebrow. And then the wall next to him, perpendicular to Kal and the entrance, explodes as if a wrecking ball had caved through it. Smoke and dust fills the room. Kal instinctively covers his face. The god simply turns to the hole, and the giant now occupying where his Western wall used to be.

Five meters tall. Plated in gold, in silver and in prismatic sinew. It stands tall, yet hunched over, the grill covering the lower half of its face venting steam as two rainbow eyes center on the god. It stands over him, overshadowing him. And then throws out its arms and bellows in a voice loud enough that Kal wonders why they even _bothered_ with stealth at all.

"**LYTEK! I have RETURNED!"**

And the God of Exaltation, the Right Hand of power, looks upon the battle form of of the golden giant and manages a short, flat,

"What."

* * *

**Glorious Shotgun Princess:**

**Journeyman**

* * *

Two fingered hands clench into loose fists as he walks through the streets of noise and cacophony. Hood covering his face, the only discernible feature the odd yellow eyes, her walks in time with the swaying of the black and gold cloaks and leathers. Silver sand still falls from the folds of his robes as he walks with purpose, with destination in mind and close.

He is going _home._ Even if he has been here longer than he has lived. Even if he will miss it, he is going home. Fingers trace in the hidden compartments of long sleeves, readying weapons for surprises. Readying hidden daggers, readying whatever he could carry, even as his mind hovers over the switches of the powers he has mastered.

Behind him, with heavy footfalls the golden giant follows a step behind. Rainbow facet eyes dart in their sockets. The unrelenting, unmistakable haze of the shield around him gives the giant confidence, as does his faith in the traveler before him.

"_We're almost there,"_ Autochthon states, voice wavering slightly as they walk through the brass city streets.

There is still noise and music, which is good. He has already counted off several escape routes in the event of silence. Hurrying their pace, they feel the portal before they see it, the golden and brass structure that stands higher and firm, unchanging as the vast landscape shifts at whim. One of the few constants in this mad realm.

He feels the sand in his boots moving, and grinds his teeth as they approach. But there is something odd. Narrowing yellow eyes, he turns to find his companion frozen in place. For a moment, he wonders if there was a breakdown of some sort, or a glitch he needs to fix, but no. He is not frozen, unmoving. Instead of freezing mid step, he has stepped back.

A thick and plated arm is held up in front of his grill, his other hand at his side and aimed at the portal, all manner of weapon and tool cycling into its palm place but not locking. Careful, thundering steps back from the giant, and Kal turns to find a figure in front of the portal and waiting for them.

Tall, at least a head taller than Kal. He could probably be even _taller_ if he wanted, of course. Broad and muscular, strength radiating from him, but easy to miss if you don't know what to look for. Green hair waves about him, falling past his shoulders in the wind and noise with occasional strands wafting up as flame.

An open coat of the finest red and brass silks hangs over his shoulder, revealing a broad chest of tanned and unblemished skin save for a gemstone over his heart, pulsing like an eye.

Four arms, their broadness and strength hidden by the long sleeves, end in four hands resting on a brass and silver sword of impossible craftsmanship, and two emerald eyes look past Kal as if he were not even there.

"**Greetings, Brother Machine."** He smiles with ivory teeth, voice thundering, heard through all this impossible realm. "**The King of Kings had dreamt you would come here, but never dared _hope_ you would. Have you come, finally, to join your brothers and sisters?"**

Eyes narrow. Hands roam over the pommel of the sword.

"**Or have you come to join my sweet Ruvelia?"**

Autochthon does not answer, backing away more, terror evident on the mask of his battle armor. Sighing, Kal'Reegar turns to the guardian- more than a guardian, he knows. "I'll handle this," he says, voice a quiet whisper.

And as he walks to the gate, Kal reminisces on the first time they came here, long years and years before...

* * *

**Journeyman, Chapter 1:**

**The Traveler and the Endless Sands**

* * *

They pass through the portal- streaming fire and golden sun gives way to rays of silver and the shifting feel of gravity pulling him in every direction at once. Kal'Reegar is no stranger to teleportation and transit- he tested out Tali's portable Mass Relay, after all- but he is a stranger to this.

He's no stranger to a portal- to something that should be instantaneous, taking so long. He began counting seconds- counting minutes- then hours. Things _stretched_, like the world became something out of a drug trip painting. Hours became days.

Five days later, the world made sense again.

The world of Deus Machina- of the golden plains, of the millions of Champions, of the fixed sun overhead- becomes a street of brass. Taking a deep breath, yellow eyes dart form side to side. Looking around him, he sees a wide street made of varnished brass and layered stone. Around him, buildings rise into every direction- upwards. Sideways. Ending in jagged roofs and spearheads. Ending in tortured faces and reaching arms.

And instead of a sky, Kal sees another city, moving slowly above them.

"Where the Hell are we?" he breathes.

_"Malfeas._" The golden sphere floats next to him. Autochthon narrows his glowing iris, looking skyward. "_Demon City. Hell itself, at least according to some definitions. Odd, it seems to be night, but it's never night here."_

Music fills the sky, fills the streets. All manner of instruments. Sounds he has never heard before, shaking the air and ground with the noise. Kal rubs the back of his head, feeling the seams of his helmet; replaced before he came here. Just in case.

He hears it before he sees it. Hears the procession of massive feet. Blinking, he watches as the giants clear the curve of the street. Massive, jagged. Forged of a mixture of metal, stone, and flesh. Each bares the face of something. He can't tell what, only that it isn't _happy._ There are four of them, marching alongside two lines of what appears to be large, disproportionate, hairy men. Which are also armored and carrying spears.

The giants are carrying a chair. Made of brass and stone, bejeweled with emeralds and glass. The chair, the _throne_ is as large as the giants, carved into languages he cannot read. Sculpted with shapes he cannot understand.

Sitting at the center of the throne, diminutive to the cushions and chair, there is a woman. Ivory skin, red hair so dark it appears black flowing down her back and over her shoulders. Green eyes the color and cut of faceted emeralds, lounging against the armrests as her black, green lined dress flows over it and her.

"Welcoming committee?" Kal whispers.

"_I am unsure,"_ Autochthon responds, iris shifting, "_I confess. I have not been here before."_

The entourage comes to a halt. She moves, flows off of the chair, and walks with such grace that her bare feet never touch the ground. "Welcome, travelers." Her voice is silk and firm hands on sore shoulders. "You have come to the eternal domain of the King of All Kings."

She spreads out her arms, bowing gracefully. Red hair spills over her, touching the floor. Or, hovering directly above it. "I am the Voice of the Eternal Yozi. Honored Travelers, I welcome you to-"

She stands up. Rolling her head back, she is jerked up like a puppet on a string. Her eyes fill with black, ink and oil. A third eye of white framed black opens upon her forehead. Lowered back onto her feet, the woman turns to them. And she starts laughing.

Throwing her head back, she laughs, loud and echoing chortles as she smacks her hand against her face. Stumbling over to the throne, she presses her hand against it to keep upright, tears of black pitch running down her cheeks, pounding her hand against it and then against the street as she slides down with her back against the leg of one of the brass giants.

She continues laughing for several minutes. Puddles of pitch form at her feet, chortles becoming guffaws, then giggles, then girlish squeals of utter delight.

Picking herself up, she walks over to the pair. "**Oh. Oh wow. I never expected this."**

Throwing her arms out wide, she smiles with yellow teeth. "**Welcome! To Malfeas! Especially you, Brother Machine."** Giggling again, she grins from ear to ear in an unnaturally large smile. "**I must say, though. Of all the things you should be afraid of, it shouldn't be dying. Because I don't think our King is going to _let_ you die until he's finished taking out _every. Last. Bit._ Of his resentment towards you."**

Kal blinks. He glances to the side, idly looking for exits. Passageways. Alleys.

"**Oh, how I'm sure he's _dreamt_ of this. How we all have. And I must say, according to my contact? How you have shed your power? Become a mere _god_ like you are now? Become so much _less_ than what you were, and then _willingly_ come here?"**

The woman brings her arms apart, and brings them together. Again, and again, in a loud, slow clap. Again, and again, for minutes as her smile gets wider and wider. "**I'm pretty sure Ligier's already heating up the forge for the things they will be fitting into your orifices, brother."** Eyes closed, smile all teeth, she brings her hands together with a squeal. "**This is going to be _amazing._ And I didn't even _do_ anything!"**

The pitch and ink vanishes. Stumbling, shaking her head, the woman blinks. She bows, opens her mouth to speak again. She jerks, stumbling up to standing. Her skin traces itself with brass lines and her eyes begin to glow with green fire. Staring straight at Autochthon, she begins to scream with a rage that begins all the way at the depths of her _soul._

And then she stumbles back. Twitching and thrashing in every direction, an array of colors, symbols, and flames wash over her from every direction, before she finally collapses unconscious onto the street.

"Autochthon?" Kal stares at the woman, as Auto watches in utter silence. "Why did the lady jerk around before collapsing like someone pole axed her?"

Night gives way to day. Green sunlight shines down directly on them. "_This...may have been a misstep on my part,"_ Autochthon stares. He clears his throat. "_I would suggest running."_

* * *

There is evading danger. Then there is fooling oneself that the danger has passed, and Kal'Reegar knows this is the former and not the latter. The street gave way to an alleyway, and deft hands found a sackcloth cloak to hide himself with, and a second to drape over his companion. Music fills a busy city street as they walk together, mixing through crowds of people.

He's pretty sure they're people. Different colors, shapes. Insects the size of men, more of those disproportionate, hairy people. He tries to think of what they remind him off. Finally hits it with a brief course in his marine training on alien fauna. _Gorillas._

Or Elcor. Elcor with human faces, at least.

The eye shifts from side to side, the hood surrounding the sphere and the cloak hanging off of it as it floats on head level with Kal. They walk through an open market, past marching bronze spiders pulling carts of worms the size of cows.

"Hey," Kal says, "Want to tell me what was up with that welcoming committee?"

The eye twitches. Silve plates shift along the iris. "_I have not understood..."_ He trails off, pauses. "_I have underestimated the resentment my kin have held towards me. While the...while the Dragon I have always known hated me, I...have underestimated the rage."_ The eye dips down. "_Especially his. As long as we are in his borders, we cannot escape his gaze."_

"Who's?" Kal watches a set of spiders arguing- each of them at least the size of a man, and very furry. Makes a mental note not to bring Tali here. Then the pang hits his gut like a punch.

"_Malfeas,"_ Autochthon whispers, "_Malfeas knows we are here. He knows _**_I_**_ am here."_

Kal shrugs. "You said we're _in_ Malfeas, right? So is that a person, too? Or a city?"

The eye slowly turns to Kal, floating sideways. "_Kal'Reegar, Malfeas is both. He is like I _**_was_**_. A being, a place. A universe. He is vast, and powerful, and _**_angry._**_"_ The iris narrows. The ball dips down. "_Because of what I did. To give you an idea, I have examined religions of several species. He quite well once mapped to the human Abrahamic concept of God. Once. And is now crippled, lessened. By my hand."_

Kal nods, one eye on the ball, one on the street. "So he's a god?"

"_Not a god, Kal'Reegar. _**_The_**_ God." _The eye shifts. "_Was. But is no longer."_

Kal works his jaw underneath his mask. He turns back to the street and goes silent, walking alongside the floating sphere. They pass through city blocks, unnoticed and unwatched. Past nightmare architecture that stretches the sky. Watching as blocks shift. Watching a street ground into rubble as another street takes its place.

"This place is insane," Kal whispers.

Autochthon is silent in his agreement. As hours stretch into days, as Kal finally hears the rumbling in his stomach, he once more turns to ask the sphere for directions. Only to find that now, the golden genius is staring into the distance. There is the distinct rattling of golden plates, and the iris is wide and open.

Idly, Kal wonders if he broke.

The crowd begins pushing. The massive elcor-with-people-faces charge past, roaring. The insects, the spiders both massive and man sized. The things- all alien, all bizarre, charge past them, push past them. It is then that Kal finally notices that the street is silent.

"What's up with that?" Kal asks, and waves his hand in front of Autochthon's eye. "Hey! Are you...broke or something? Why's everyone panicking?"

The answer comes in the form of a high pitched, terrified shriek from Autochthon. A scream, loud and long, and filled with such pure _fear_ that it makes Kal take a step back and turn in the direction Autochthon is facing. Which is when he _sees_ it, for the first time.

It comes in the form of a red tinge on the air. A wind, in the distance which makes the air twirl and dance. He can see it, in the distance. Lazily coming closer and closer, as the wind flows through the distant buildings and distant streets, becoming more and more defined.

There are screams in the buildings, cut off in mid sentence. He sees a beast charging out of a stable, the size of a tank. It collapses, dead, in mid step. A blue skinned man runs out. He stops, lifts up. His legs disappear above the knee. His eyes disappear, but no blood leaks out. A halo of red air wraps around his head as his tongue, nose, and ears vanish.

And then he is dead, laying face down on the street. And then he is nothing, like stone eroded over hundreds of years.

"Oh ancestors," Kal whispers, "What the fuck is that?"

_"Run!"_ Autochthon screams, "_Run! Run! RUN! RUN! RUN! _**_RUN! RUN! RUN! WE HAVE TO RUN!"_**

Autochthon's screams become high pitched noise, static over speakers and fingers scraping over chalkboards. Grabbing the ends of the cloak, Kal runs, dragging the ball, cloak and all behind him as he sprints down the street.

Down the street, racing the wind. He runs alongside the aliens and creatures, arms and knees pumping. Hunger and fatigue is supplanted by outright terror. Especially as he sees other racers dropping behind him. One of the gorillas stops, clutching his throat before dissolving to dust. A woman with red skin and black eyes jerks in mid step, collapsing. More and more around him, even as he still sees the red gales behind him.

Then, Kal does the regrettable mistake of looking up. As does Autochthon, which only prompts him to scream _louder._

A hurricane of red wind churns high above, larger than the city block. Larger than many together. Larger than a _dreadnought._

"Oh ancestors," Kal breathes.

"_We are all going to die!"_ Autochthon finishes.

Kal'Reegar has never been one to accept his fate. Instead, still running, adrenaline and whatever magic he has powering him, he begins looking for escapes. He glances from side to side. He locks eyes briefly with the black haired girl running alongside him, unaffected by the wind and skipping. She favors him with an ivory smile, which is followed by a louder shriek from Autochthon.

People around them are screaming, roaring, banging metal and rattling cages. As Kal passes, he can't help but notice how the sound is cutting off _behind_ him. He doesn't look back, only forward, and something in the back of his mind clicks. Information- not his, but from something older- and he wraps Autochthon's cloak around his hand.

The line of silence is getting _closer_ and _closer._ But he finally sees it. A shifting, struggling creature upon a black marble stone, bulbous and smooth, featureless. It moves its worm like neck, roaring and warbling as more it stretches its mouth and swallows one of the gorilla-people whole. _Good enough,_ Kal thinks.

He sprints, races the wind. He _knows_ the price, somehow, and leaps as the thing lowers its mouth towards Kal. The gullet stretches wide, and Kal can feel something _drained_ from him, just as it swallows him and Autochthon whole. The creature warbles and burps. Then seizes up, dropping dead before eroding into fine sand.

* * *

Three fingers hands clench into fists around rubble. Groaning, shaking his head, Kal'Reegar opens his eyes to the sound of a high pitched drone. Turning to his side, he identifies the source as Autochthon, eye down into the rubble and dirt of the blasted street they landed in, his shriek muted due to him being half buried.

Kal pulls himself up to seated, tucking his knees against his chest. Reaching over, he grabs a separation in the plates in the eye and yanks Autochthon out, to be rewarded with the ear piercing shriek. Iris wide open, plates shaking, Kal sits next to Auto as he continues his terrified squeal for several more minutes.

Then the plates shift, the iris closes, and Autochthon floats back up. "_Ah, yes! We've escaped!"_ He turns, shifting down to face Kal. "_Excellent work, Exalted. Knew I made the right choice in asking you."_

Kal holds his hands in his head with a groan. "Great."

He stands, looking up, and finds rubble as far as the eye can see. There are- were- buildings here. Now there is rubble. Bodies and things, crushes underneath. Rubbing the back of his head, he begins walking as Auto floats alongside. "No idea where we are," Kal says, "I mean, no idea where we were _before,_ either."

"_Yes...yes!_" Autochthon's iris opens wide. "_Hold on! I have an idea!"_ The sphere floats off before Kal can get in another word. Groaning, Kal lets his hands drop at his side, turns, and stares into the still eyes of a partially flattened gorilla hanging in the air in front of him.

There is a wind, holding up the body, holding it in front of Kal. It- and the flattened ape, circle around him. With a gust that he barely feels, the body whips away, retreating into the distance. Rubbing the back of his head, Kal continues walking. Even as more bodies around him are picked up, pausing to turn to the sidereal and zipping away.

Walking through the rubble, Kal can't help but compare this wasteland to a blast site. Something came through here- something big, stamping this place _flat._ There is nothing here, as far as his eye can see, higher than his waist. At least, if he doesn't count the _holes_ he could drop into that are the size of a _frigate._

He glances down, and sees that there is a wind now following him. A steady gust, the discoloration and faint rippling of the air the only thing giving it away. It is the size of a small person, undulating and shifting the ground beneath it. Stopping, the wind stops too, rushing around him in a circle.

"_Ah, yes! Hello! Kal'Reegar, you have met one of my nieces!"_

Autochthon zooms back over, bobbing up and down. He tilts down, as the wind sits at Kal's side. Bits of dust and rock hover inside it, before it rises and hovers around Kal's shoulder. "_Yes, hello!"_ Autochthon continues, "_Which one are you, then? Well, he's not blind and he still has all his skin so YES! Hello Kamilla!"_

The wind happily circles Kal's head, as the quarian rests his hands on his hips. "Great. Say, Auto? Where did you head off to?"

"_I had an IDEA! Which was a good one!"_ Autochthon bobs up and down, iris closing. "_I have convinced one of my siblings to aid us, as we are currently in the presence of one of them who does not actively or inactively despise me!"_

The ground beneath Kal's feet shudders. Debris and rocks jump, hanging in the air before crashing down. Some do not, hanging in the air and speeding off into the distance. Kal finds himself off balance- shifting side to side. The world itself angles itself, the ground inclining itself towards something in the distance.

And then, Kal looks up and sees it. Or _tries_ to see it. Tries to _think_ of what it sees, as it approaches. He cannot see it clearly, because there is no light- or at least, the light is wrapping around it as it approaches, _warped_ by its approach.

As a traveler through space, as a marine on the migrant fleet, Kal is familiar with stellar phenomena. But he has never seen one this close. He should _never_ have seen one this close, but that part of Kal's mind that is not devoting itself to self preservation confirms that yes. Yes it is.

It is, indeed, a _black hole,_ walking towards them. Light bending, gravity crushing. Making the earth beneath it lurch up towards it as its footsteps make him struggle to stay balanced.

Kal'Reegar stares up at the _thing_ before him. Tries to make out something- features, faces, _something._ His brain attempts to cope, and does so badly, eyes wide beneath his mask and locked on the massive dense _thing_ before him. Although, it _does_ remind him of an Elcor. Mainly due to having four legs and no neck.

But then he doesn't think of it as an Elcor. Then his mind _tells_ him what it is, as some deep part of him is screaming _The Black Boar that Twists the Skies._

"Isidoros," Kal whispers.

Auto turns from the black hole to Kal. "_Yes! That is his name. Have you met?"_

Kal struggles for words.

"_Anyway!" _Auto turns back to the _thing_ standing before them, "_This is Kal'Reegar, a Sidereal accompanying me for my journey. Say hello, brother!"_

The air shakes with the words, and the bow wave throws Kal off his feet. He flips end over end through the air before slamming into a pile of rubble and falling unconscious. Auto turns to the pile, then back to the black hole as the wind floats off to Kal.

"_I told you that you need to speak softer. Now we have to wait for him to wake up."_

* * *

The world warps around them- a lensing effect, Kal imagines, from the _weight_ of the thing he's currently sitting on. Ground shakes beneath the hooves of this _object_, this beast. This brother, or at least sibling of the golden sphere resting next to him. "So," Kal starts. He clears his throat, turning from Autochthon to the head of the black boar. "Why are you...not hating him?"

He jams a thumb towards Auto. Auto's iris closes. A spark runs over the silver.

**Cause I don't care,** comes the response, rumbling like earthquakes.

"_Isidoros is...singular, with one exception,"_ Autochthon explains, "_He cannot be stopped, he cannot be halted, but he can be reasoned with."_

**I go where I go. That's it.** A rumble, rippling through the fur. The voice speaks in clipped, short thundercracks. **Strong enough to stop me and I stop. Haven't been stopped.**

Kal taps his fingers on his leg. Adjusting his position, sitting cross legged as scenery passes them buy, he muses silently. Thinking about what he's seen. Thinking about where he has been. Considering the implausibility, even as he feels the cool gust on his back from the wind that is following him.

"So, why did you agree to carry us?"

A snort, shaking the air like a thundercrack. **Autochthon asked me. Made something stronger than me, so I decided to. Don't care otherwise.**

_"Most of my kin resent me for my actions in the War."_ Autochthon floats over to Kal, hovering in front of him. "_Isidoros does not care, one way or the other. I had to argue that since my creations _**_have_**_ stopped him, he was obligated to do this for me._" A pause. The iris shifts. "_I was not sure it would work."_

**Don't care one way or another.** The Exalt and the god turn towards the swaying head of the black hole boar. **Was heading towards the desert but not going through it. You still have to get through her before you're in Creation.**

Kal stares at the boar, then turns to Auto. "Her? Her who?"

Autochthon sighs, lowering his eye. Golden plates shift around him and the spark flickers behind the iris. "_He means Cecelyne."_

* * *

The rumbling recedes into the distance. Standing at the edge of a brass street, Kal'Reegar glancing to Autochthon next to him, and to the wind shifting next to him. Looking up at the barely defined plain in front of him, he once again questions whether or not this is a bad idea. "So, this is _a_ border, right?" he asks.

"_Yes,"_ Autochthon confirms, "_The edge of Malfeas. An edge. Past this is Cecelyne. Take a step forward and we will transit to there."_

He can make out...some definition. It looks less like a desert to his eyes. It looks more like the surface of a _moon._ And not the life-bearing kind he sees around gas giants, but the cold, dead, and _gray_ ones.

Beneath his helmet, Kal clenches his eyes shut. Sensors note and massage his temples with compressed air. It makes no sense, he muses. But then again, nothing _else_ has since he went through the portal. Taking a step, Kal, half expects a drop.

But instead, his foot comes down on fine gray sand. Turning around, he sees an endless desert behind him, featureless and gray and stretching into the infinite horizon. Turning around, he sees more of the same, and no sign of brass streets. His reaction is, all considering, sensible.

"The fuck just happened?"

The golden sphere floats past, followed by the wind. "_Excellent, we've transitioned successfully. Come along, it takes five days to reach Creation."_

Kal looks back. No, he can see the gates. The streets, somehow, but only in the corner of his vision. "Wait, what happened? We were _there_ and now we're _not?"_

"_I imagine Malfeas has sealed us out._" The iris twists and sparks. "_It may take some effort to get back in once we are prepared to return to Deus Machina. This may prove troublesome but ONWARD! We can deal with this problem later!"_

Kal grits his teeth. Clenching fists, he begins walking after them. "Dammit, I wish I could tell you how much I hate you."

"_I doubt it is even one inkling of the amount Cecelyne does, if that is any comfort!"_

Kal works his jaw. The sand rises between his toes, and he can feel it grinding against his feet. "Oh no. _Oh fucking no._ You did _not_ just imply that this giant damn desert is _also_ your fucking _brother!"_

The eye turns. Two plates on either side of it- which he was sure _were not there before-_ rise as if in a shrug. "_Sister, actually. She is a creature of laws and rules. As it stands, the current rule is that we must travel for five days to reach Creation."_ There is a sound, as if Autochthon is sucking in breath he does not need through teeth he does not have. "_Ah, yes. I may have exaggerated, as well. Cecelyne is the sister- she is a girl, by the way- of Malfeas. Technically, she is more my cousin."_ Another pause. "_Additionally, she is also...from a certain point of view, by the way, you could say that she, Law, is the mother of the Principle of Hierarchy."_

Kal blinks. He glances at the wind, then back at Auto. He looks down and shifts his feet in the sand. "So. Wait. You're saying this," he points down to the sand, "Is the _mother_ of the big cloud of glass balls that Tali and Shepard ran into?"

"_Only from a certain point of view!"_

Kal blinks again. He blinks again. The implications run through his head, hitting the large mental wall of _wharblegarble_. "Dare I ask who the father was?"

There is a moment of rare silence from the golden sphere. "_Well. From a certain point of view, it was Malfeas-who-Was. Kingship, Dominion. Together with Law, that creates Hierarchy."_

Kal makes a weak chuckle. "So the glass balls came from the sand being melted?"

Autochthon harrumphs. "_It was certainly much more complicated than that!"_

Autochthon turns and continues floating. Kal walks alongside him. "So the big brass city got together with the big desert and had a group of fiery balls." He rubs the back of his neck, angling a glance at Auto. "Weird, but kind of sweet. What about you? Get together with, what? An ocean? Maybe a moon? I mean, which one of the lady...things...were you sweet with?"

The iris narrows. Electricity sparks around the iris and a random bolt of lightning turns the sand beneath Autochthon to glass. "_None. I was too _**_hideous_**_ for them to look upon._" The sphere turns back to the horizon. "_It will take us five days to cross. We should keep walking."_

* * *

They were not the only travelers on the long silver sands. They would pass bodies, travelers face down in the desert, some eroded all the way to bones. As they passed them, the wind would float over, picking them up and carrying them away before returning a short time later.

"Where do you think she's taking them?" Kal asks.

Autochthon shrugs, and continues floating. Kal rubs the back of his neck, realizing that terrible truth. "I'm referring to _wind_ as female. I don't believe I just did that. Like the desert is female, or the giant city with the green sun is male."

He mutters under his breath. There is already sand in his suit. And it isn't moving like sand, either. It managed to get past his seals, somehow, and now it's..._roaming_ over his backside. "Ancestors, this _sucks._ And you've been damn _quiet_ since I asked you about your love life."

The golden ball harrumphs. "_It matters not. It takes us five days to reach the end of the desert and transit to Creation. We have time to be angry and to let anger _**_go_**_."_

He blinks. "Wait, five days. What if we, I don't know, walk faster?"

"_Five days."_

"How about if we go really, really slow?"

"_Five days. However, I would not recommend it, as that is against the rules and would make her upset."_

Kal stops, arms hanging at his side. "That...that makes _no_ sense."

The sphere stops, and floats back over. Behind them, Kamilla passes by, carrying away a skull and a leg bone. "_It does. In its own twisted way. Cecelyne is the principle of Law. Therefor, within her borders, does she establish the Law. And her Law says that we must travel for five days to reach the edge of this desolation."_

Kal works his jaw, under his helmet. "I...I still don't _understand_ what that means!"

The plates shrug on the golden sphere. "_I sympathize. The laws are hypocritical and nonsensical, and designed only to make you _**_miserable_**_. But they are Her laws and she is _**_Law_**_, and hence they must be _**_followed_**_!"_

Kamilla floats by, holding a torso. She stops, turning to the two, and continues on. Kal works his jaw under his helmet, resting his palm against the tinted glass. Autochthon only stairs, shifting winds and sands around them, occasional arcs of lightning lighting the inside of his eye. Arms hanging at his side, Kal finally puts the pieces together.

"Tali...didn't explain a lot to me," he says, "But...you created, this." He pats his hand to his chest. "This...this thing inside me, right?"

"_Yes. I created the Exaltations."_

"Why?" Kal asks. He shrugs, hands ups. "I...look, I don't know the first thing about this. We get into the city, and the first thing that happens is the lady who greets us gets...possessed by a freakin' two bit supervillain, and then we get chased by a hurricane. Those...those are your family, right? Them, and the giant...thing...we rode on? And this?" He points down. "This to? This is your cousin?"

The eye tilts, its approximation of a nod. Kal asks himself how he got so good at reading the gestures of a half meter in diameter golden ball with no volume control, but rolls with it.

"_Yes. They are."_ The head tilts. It shrugs. "_At least, these are their jouten. They are bigger than this."_

Kal works his jaw. Needs to find out what the Hell a _jouten_ is at some point but still. "So why did you make'em?" The eye turns back to him. Behind Autochthon, Kamilla flies away with a thing that likes like the child of a Hanar and a Volus. "People fight wars for reasons, and that's what it was, right? So...why?"

The iris narrow, almost closing completely into a solid disc of silver. "_Why?"_ The voice comes as almost a whisper. "_Simple, really. I was too _**_disgusting_**_ for them to look upon. I was always the one that was_" There is a sound like metal grinding deep within the eye. "_I was always the one who's talents were _**_abused_**_ but never _**_appreciated. _**_Everything I created, every wonder I _**_worked_**_ from _**_impossibility_**_ was _**_taken_**_ and not _**_once_**_ was I considered anything more than a disgusting _**_freak."_**

Kal takes a step back. "Wait. Wait a minute, Auto. You might be-"

"**_Every. Last. Thing._**" Thunder cracks overhead. "_I created the _**_Games_**_ and they took them. I created the _**_Jadeborn_**_ and they _**_shunned_**_ them. I created the _**_Sun_**_ and Malfeas-that-was wrenched it from me so that his begotten son could have an appropriate chariot." _Lightning strikes within a few paces of Kal, melting sand to glass. Kamilla flutters over, hovering behind Kal. "_They took my inventions! They took my ideas! They took my patience and my craftsmanship! They took my _**_SON _**_and _**_butchered him to create humanity!"_**

Kal takes another step back. The air above churns with the sounds of thunder and gathering static. Kamilla floats back with him, swirling behind his back. "Auto, what you're telling me? You...basically crippled God."

"**_I. Had. Cause."_** Thunder roars. Lightning strikes around them. A perfect circle of sand, all around them, become fine reflective glass. The golden sphere shakes, and lowers, the iris shifting open as the lightning within crackles and churns and grows dimmer. "_Yes. Yes, I had cause."_

Kamilla makes the sound of wind chimes. Darting under Kal's arm, she whirls around Autochthon. "_We should continue on,"_ Auto says, "_We make no progress like this."_

Floating, bobbing up and down in the air, Autochthon continues onward with Kamilla in tow. After a moment, Kal follows.

* * *

They walked, for hours, in total silence. Kamilla had taken her place in close proximity to her gold and round uncle, making the sound of sad wind chimes and occasionally gusting around him. She only left his side to carry away the occasional stray corpse.

Kal walked behind them, his thoughts drifting. To home. To the fleet. To the mission. To the war he finds himself embroiled in- the possibly hopeless war they nonetheless scored a great victory in. Mostly, though, they drift to one thing in particular. A face.

Long, curly purple hair. Eyes that had...have brilliance behind them he can't even begin to approach. Bravery that makes him, a trained Migrant Marine, feel like a kid hiding in a corner. Given, though, his memories _mainly_ drift to her kissing him. Mainly to that.

Picking up his pace, he walks up to the sphere. He needs to talk. He needs to argue. He needs to get his mind off home, _somehow._ "So," he starts, "Can I-"

"_No!"_ Autochthon bellows, but Kal quickly realizes he's looking past him, "_Sand Pirate Blood Apes! We have been spotted!"_

Well, Kal thinks. That works too.

Hands clench in _just_ the right way. Electricity runs over the back of his hands as his knuckle dusters activate. Taking off in a sprint, he passes Auto, passes Kamilla, and charges towards the sound of horns and bellows.

And then he asks himself what _Blood Apes_ are. Passing a dune, running into view of the _three ships_ somehow sailing on _sand,_ he gets his answer. So, he thinks, that's what those 'Elcor with human faces' he kept running into are _actually_ called.

Ah well, Kal thinks. Can't be worse than Krogans. A final leap, and he runs up a thrown iron spear. The forward ship. Makes a mental count; seven of those...big...things. All wearing leather jackets, jerkins, and metal helmets. They roar at him as he leaps over the bow, weaving through the air and towards the mast.

One hand on the wood, he spins around it. Momentum carries him through the air. Fist back, eyes glowing yellow, he lets the Essence flow and calls up the _boom._ This is what he _does._

**Terrestrial Martial Art: Synthetic Hero Style**

** Care with Fragile Organics**

The punch slams into the face of one of the blood apes. Essence and gravity do the rest. The shock runs through the face, through the skull, and vibrates the bone. Stumbling back, the demon is unconscious before he hits the deck.

A spear comes down where he was. Two, in fact. Where he was, but not where he is now. A standing leap sends him above them. His feet snap out, and smack them both in the face, twisting in mid air to grab the mast and kick himself off. He turns, flies knee first, and swings his foot into the side of a surprise'd ape's head.

**Mass Effect Bludgeon.**

The snap and a crack of thunder tosses him off the ship. Two down, five to go. On this ship, at least.

He falls back, back leg bent, front leg planted firmly on the hardwood. Hands in front of him. Opens one, turns it, and gestures them forward. "C'mon," he breathes, "Let's _dance."_

They take the bait. Two run at him, spears overhead. Sidearms in their free hand, cocked back and fingers on the trigger. He swings to the side. A fired pellet ignites a chunk of the bow behind him. _Yeah,_ he thinks, _That's mine now._

Moves like lightning, quick and hard. Slams one fist into one blood ape's face, ducks out of the way of the flying teeth. Grabs the gun as he goes limp, grabs the spear with the other hand. Swings the shaft into the back of the other's head and sends him down. This is his element. This is what he does.

He's a _Migrant Fleet Marine,_ and this a _boarding action._

The spear goes flying, and pins a charging ape to the mast. He grabs his gun, a punch to the jaw knocking him out, and slides across the deck. A quick check, a quick look, and he kicks open a door at waist height, cocks the gun, and fires.

Roars and shrieks from behind him as he runs, and he leaps off just as their powder stocks ignite. The blast sends him through the air, flipping end over end. Tucking and rolling, he heads the kinetic barriers squeal, gets more of the damn sand in his suit, and lands a crouch.

Two more of the ships bearing down. Beneath his mask, Kal'Reegar grins. This, he thinks, is a lot more his comfort zone. "I need something that explodes," he breathes.

He gets his wish, when a white lance flies out of nowhere. A flash of vermillion and it slams into one of the ships on the side, tearing it one end to the other. The ship buckles, collapses. Flames burst from within and sends metal, wood and crew flying.

One of whom is launched towards him. The ape sees him, and roars, arms out and diving towards him.

And then there's what Kal honestly calls a _blur._ Someone, right out of nowhere. She flies across the sand, slamming a foot into one arm, swinging the side of her hand into the other. The ape screams as bones shatter, but the scream's cut off when she just _flows_ around him and wraps her arms around the ape's neck.

The ape is dead, face down in the sand and the woman is standing on him. Features hidden by grey cloth, a cloak surrounding her and scarves covering everything on her face save for green eyes. She stands on the dead ape, as the final ship comes alive with roars and bellows. It circles them as the sides open, harpoon guns sliding out.

And then the woman speaks, and it is with a tone that makes Kal want to _salute._

"This traveler and his companions are under _my_ protection." The voice carries onto the ship. Carries through the sand and air, crisp and clear. "Know this, if you wish to test the limits. _One_ person in Hell has fought me and _lived._ He is _behind_ me. You are are in _front_ of me."

Eyes narrow. An extended hand wraps with vermillion. "If you value your lives, _be somewhere else."_

The ship turns and speeds away without a word. No argument given, none needed. Kal can already sense how the fight would have been a losing proposition. He clears his throat, hands folded behind him, chest out and head high.

"Thanks for the assistance, Ma'am," he says, "We were just-"

The eyes pin him where he stands. "Sidereal." She bites the word back like a bitter fruit. "Are they letting you out of Yu Shan young, or were you some unlucky Ronin who exalted in the middle of Hell?"

She walks over to him, grabbing him by the elbow. "Come with me. And I won't tell your big bad _Sifu_ how you fought a group of Blood Apes like a punch drunk Haslanti..." The eyes narrow as her voice trails off. She looks down at his hand, then back at his helmet.

"What _are_ you?" she demands, voice a quiet, but pointed whisper, "You're not human."

"And who are _you?"_ He says the words before he can think them. The voice is familiar. The eyes, too. Something, _something_ about her is setting off all sorts of bells in the back of his head.

And then she pulls down the scarves, revealing her face. Once again, Kal'Reegar speaks before he really should. "Captain _Shepard?_ What are _you_ doing he-"

The hand moves like an attacking snake. The helmet explodes, glass and metal and plastics expanding into a sphere around his head, as the force sends him off his feet and out of her grip. Kal'Reegar is unconscious before he hits the sand.

**End Chapter 1**


	2. Infinite Deserts and Just Deserts

**He** is reasonably sure he sees a face in the wind hovering in front of him. Not just the face of the partially singed blood ape, but another face. It might be his imagination. It might be a concussion from when the lady who saved them knocked him the fuck out. Either or.

The blood ape is gone, and the wind retreats through the open door of the stone cabin, returning minutes later.

"Where does she take the bodies?" the red haired not-Hannah Shepard asks. Autochthon shrugs.

Kal groans, loudly. Pressing his palm over his bare face, he makes a loud, somewhat pathetic sound as Autochthon floats over and drops a repaired and restored helmet at his side. "_Apologies, Kal'Reegar. I have explained the situation as well as I could."_ Autochthon clears his throat. "_We are...still in a precarious situation regarding good will, and could use some...diplomatic aid."_

Translated to Kal; the little spazzing _bosh'tet_ has pissed their host off more. Ah, _what the Hell._

"C'mon out, buddy. You're better at this than I am."

Seems along Kal's encounter suit glow, gathering and collecting before rising off of him. They appear as small spheres, faint flickering blue and white. Over a thousand in all. One thousand, one hundred and seventy eight, in total. Flickering and blurring, they collect in front of him and begin stacking. Forming two toed feet, legs covered in plate and wire.

A torso, thin, almost to the point of emaciated. Long arms ending in three digit hands. A head, long and ending in a single eye, with four plates rising and folding around it. The eye shifts, glowing white, and some of the mass below its shoulder shifts to create a hole on the right side of its chest.

Reaching out, it gives Autochthon a light shove. Four plates around the eye rise like a flower petal when Autochthon moves.

"_Fascinating. We are able to affect the physical world without a platform."_ The voice is digitized, synthetic, and yet carrying something. Wisdom. Enthusiasm. "_Hypothesis. The laws of this reality allow us to become physical using accumulated Essence."_

The red haired woman stares at the odd creature. She works her jaw, glancing to Autochthon, then to Kal, and finally to the...thing...currently standing in front of the inexperience Sidereal. "And what are _you?"_

The glow subsides around the new creature, and it raises one hand in greetings. "_Greetings. We are Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth."_

She blinks. "Wuffles." She blinks again. "What."

* * *

.

**Chapter 2:**

**Infinite Deserts and Just Desserts**

**.**

* * *

He rubs the bridge of his nose, taking advantage of the distraction to pull his helmet back on. Tucking the dreads underneath it, he snaps on the seals and watches the heads up display come to life. Targeting reticules appear over the woman, Auto, and Wuffles, as they talk amongst themselves. Then he realizes something.

"How is everyone speaking Khelish?" Not-Hannah Shepard turns to him, an eyebrow cocked and lips a straight line. A mix of curious about the question and contained incense that he once again has opened his mouth.

"_A simple question with a simple answer!"_ Auto lowers himself to Kal's eye level. "_I have taken the liberty of modifying your omnitool with the full dictionaries, dialects, and accents available in Creation! As long as it is powered and on, you will have no trouble communicating!"_

Yeah, Kal thinks. That's not something that won't be a problem. _Note to self: Learn languages __for when my omnitool breaks._ "Sounds right," he says, and dusts himself off as he stands, "Wuffles, when'd you get into my suit?"

"_We uploaded a copy of our runtimes when Iri asked you to step through the Gate._" Petals fold around their head. "_We believed our assistance would be required. Or, if not required, at least welcome."_

Kal nods, patting the Geth on the shoulder. Turning to the woman, he bows his head and drops to one knee. Wuffles follows suit. "Apologies for the bad first impression, Ma'am. My name is Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna. I'm not from around here. As far as I know, I'm from at least the next universe over."

She nods, arms folded. Nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. Testing the truth and worthiness of the tale, even as he speaks it. Kal speaks, telling of his origin- of the galaxy he has come from, of the quest he is on. As little of it as he knows, at least. He is here for protection, he explained, of the golden sphere.

"Who you name as _Autochthon,"_ she says, stroking her chin, pinning the eye with but a stare that makes it hover in perfect stillness, "Yes. _Yes,_ I can see that. You have his trademarks. You have his fabled mania and lacking _grasp_ of consequences."

"_We hypothesize that our task is as much to protect Autochthon from himself, as it is to protect him from Creation,"_ Wuffles explains. Auto narrows his iris, turning to the Geth. "_Additionally, while we appreciate your effort to save us, we have observed that your interactions with us have been rooted in violence."_

She snorts. Hand rests on the table next to her as Autochthon floats off to the crystal windows overlooking the desert. The plates move, quickly and with sparks of lightning hinted in the cracks. Waving off the Geth, she pushes herself from the table and walks to the brass chest against the far wall.

The top is pulled open, and a burst of cold fills the room, followed by a iron ball being thrown into Kal's hands. Turning it over, he sees the cork in it and pulls it out, the helmet's HUD confirming that yes, what is in there is edible. Even for him, somehow.

"There are more pirates in the area," she says, "I know Autochthon by reputation. You two, however, probably have a plan. What is it?"

His helmet drops to the floor. Taking his first sip, he feels the burning of the alcohol. Probably _why_ it registered as edible. Strong enough for _levo or dextro_ to drink. "Figured we'd have more of the _bosh'tets_ to deal with, so was planning to rig up one of the wrecks."

She nods. "You're poorly prepared for the Endless Desert." A quick thwack against the wall. A hidden door slides open, and she pulls out a pair of gray cloaks. A flick of the wrist sends them to Kal and Wuffles. "Concealment. Lay on the sand in them, the only thing that sees you is _her._ And she doesn't _care."_

Kal nods. Auto remains silent, watching the distance, even as the gust of wind marks the return of Kamilla. Wuffles extends their petals as her fingers find their way on the underside of their head. "You. Both of you are aliens. From another _Creation,_ is it?" A faint smirk crosses her features. "In my younger days, I was tempted to go out and see what lay past the boundaries of even the Infinite. Looks like there is more out there."

She leans against the table, a quick push of her hands bringing her to sitting on it. "Who _made_ you?"

"_We were created by the Quarians approximately-"_

"No." Her finger wags. Face stern like a schoolmarm. "Not you, you fascinating cloud of little gods. Your universe. Your _Creation."_ She strokes her chin. "Hm...Rametheus was dealt with. Was it Ipithaleumas, the Sky Piercing Cloud? Or Ulamitalius? The Rock and the Wall?"

Kal shrugs. "Dunno." He rubs the back of his neck, and sits back down. Back against the wall, but hopefully only figuratively. "Dunno, honestly. Best bet we got for any of that is him." He gestures to Autochthon, who says nothing. "What about you? Who're you?"

She smirks. "You are not native to this land, so my name is nothing more than a word." She pushes off. Standing tall, but shorter than either him or Wuffles, he finds that she suddenly has a golden sword in her hand. "But I am the protector of these Deserts. Or the travelers in it, who come from _my_ Creation or any others."

A sheath appears, and she slides the sword in. "My titles and past names are but stories. My old legends are just myth. But you, aliens?" She smirks, and he can definitely see how she reminded him of Captain Hannah. "You may call me _Merela."_

* * *

...

* * *

A wreck was found, easily enough. Not one of the ones Kal made, but one a bit more intact. Tightening the the hood around his helmet, he pulls back a thick rope and allows himself a faint grin as a sail drops down over the mast.

A quick leap, and he goes halfway across the deck, pulling at wires and feeling the ship lurch. Instinct guides him more than anything- over to the wheel, hands on it and holding it steady as the desert begins a steady passage around them. Deep breath, and the visor of his helm slides open to let him _breathe._

"Impressive." Merela stands next to him, hands folded behind her. "You've handled ships?"

"Not like this one," Kal responds, "Starships. Spaceships." He smirks. "Feels natural, though. Like I belong here."

She perks an eyebrow. "You sail the skydome?"

He shakes his head. "Not like that." A faint smile, a small laugh. "That's what you call the air, right? Well, I go beyond that. Between the stars. All my people do."

A brief flicker of surprise registers on Merela's face. "Odd. Your universe is a strange place, then." She leans against the rail, overlooking the bow and deck of the ship. Leaning on her elbows, she smiles as the red hair blows gently around her. "You go from world to world?"

"Always have." The motions come naturally. Instinct and reflex, some voice deep within telling him how this works. "Don't have a home. Grew up on a ship, and might die on one."

He gently moves the wheel. Listens to the door below him open and the gentle hum of Autochthon hovering over to him. To them. Dunes pass under Kal's skilled guidance. He could do this for days. This is _right._ This is _nature_.

"Aliens." Merela rolls the word over her tongue. "I can still be surprised. And you said I looked like someone? A Captain _Shepard?_"

Kal nods. "A starship captain in my home...home universe." He shakes his head. "_Keelah._ Feels weird to say it. But she's an ally of mine." He shrugs. "Ended up saving her and him when they rammed Harbinger." He nods his head to Autochthon, who floats over to Merela.

"_So."_ The iris narrows. "_Who are, you really? Because I _**_have_**_ met Merela. And you are _**_much_**_ too tall."_

She nods. Leaning, she taps her finger on her lip. Smiles, green eyes over the horizon. "You don't want to ask me that."

"_Oh, no, I certainly don't."_ The iris flashes open. "_What did you just do to me?!"_

Eyes shine like emeralds in sunlight, and she turns, back against the railing. "Oh, that's the fun part." She loops a finger under the plates, pulling the sphere over. "See, the great Solar Queen weaved this lovely bit of magic into her name. Say it, and you're overcome with admiration and love for her."

She yanks him forward, the eye hovering in her face. "I already admire her. I love her as an example. I've taken her name as a warning to the Yozi of their impending _demise._" She smiles with teeth shining like polished ivory. "I've had many names. Do not concern yourself with a true one. And _do not ask me again._"

The eye nods. She releases him, and he quickly retreats below deck as she begins wrapping the scarves around her face. Pausing, she turns to Kal. "Do I still remind you of this Captain Shepard?"

Kal shrugs. "Well, if she could do _that_, I'm pretty sure she would." A pause, Kal nodding his head side to side. "So, yeah. Yeah, you still remind me of her."

Merela laughs, long and throaty. "Your universe is in excellent hands, then." Turning around to look back over the horizon, she spends the rest of the journey with a contented smile upon her face.

* * *

...

* * *

Days passed quickly and thankfully, silently. Sufficiently intimidated by Merela, Autochthon remained blissfully quiet for most of the trip, while she and Kal took turns at the wheel. As hours became days; as two became three, then four, Kal found himself at peace. Not missing home- not as much. This was natural.

This was _good._ It is as the fifth day ends that Kal perks his ear and hears Wuffles as he walks onto the deck next to him. Petals extended, the Geth stands stock still next to him. They glance from side to side, before turning to Reegar.

"Been busy?" Kal asks.

"_Yes. We have had several conversations with the Traveller regarding the state of Creation, and have constructed a map that may aid us in finding our bearings."_

Kal perks an eyebrow. "Traveller?"

"_Observing the effects of her name on Autochthon, we do not wish to risk a similar effect on ourselves should she become hostile. We have designated her the Traveller."_ Kal nods. "_She has also propositioned us for sexual intercourse."_

Kal blinks. Mouthing the words, he slowly turns to Wuffles. "Um." He works his jaw. "How would you do that?"

"_We are currently a collocating copy of Wuffles, which exists independent of the Wuffles in our home universe. It can be argued that while one of us remains faithful to EDI, the other can experiment and gain experience. When queried on this possibility, EDI has encouraged us to do so."_

The glass face plate slides up, and Kal reaches one hand to massage the bridge of his nose. Somewhere between when he first stepped onto the Normandy and now, he has concluded that he has surrounded himself with increasingly adventurous people in _every_ sense of the word.

"No, Wuffles. I mean." Oh ancestors, how to phrase it. "I thought the Geth didn't have the...you know...equipment?" He glances at Wuffles, hopeful that he will not get the answer he is expecting. Perhaps even praying.

Four petal extend, and within seconds Kal has found that his prayers are for naught. "_While platforms do not possess appropriate equipment for physical intercourse, we are capable of manufacturing attachments to simulate the capabilities of both genders."_

On the plus side, Kal thinks, he can remove his face plate without worries. He can live outside of an environmental suit, has had larger than life adventures and may be key to peace with the wayward creations of his people.

On the negative side, he is in a world where the Geth he travels with turns out to be a synthetic heroic sex god. So it balances.

He turns back to the horizon. Attempts to kill the images in his head, and fails. "I'm going to forget this conversation. Can we forget this conversation?"

"_Deleting logs. Saving map."_ Wuffles steps off the deck, and climbs back into the hold.

* * *

...

* * *

The fifth day came to a close. Standing at the border, or at least what he thinks is a border, Kal turns back to the traveller as she finishes wrapping the scarves around her head. Wuffles extends his petals, looking around, while Auto hovers next to him with Kamilla gusting around the ball.

"So," Kal says, "You're not coming with us?"

Merela shakes her head. "My place is here. I protect travelers from the dangers, and I have sworn to not leave this desert until I either abandon my quest, or complete it."

The eye floats over to her. "_And I may ask what that is."_ The iris narrows. "_I would comment on how you yourself are not powerful enough to kill all my kin, but I have found the Exalted can do things just as impossible. But even still._" Electricity sparks behind the plates. "_When a Primordial dies, it is...harmful...for the nature of things. Surely you know this."_

She nods. "I don't plan on killing all of them," she says, the scarves shifting in time with her smile, "Just _one._ So, please, Maker. Do me a favor."

She leans in. Green eyes burn like emerald coals. "Tell your most despicable brother, the nemesis and shadow, that I am _coming for him."_ Turning from the god, she begins walking back into the wastes. "Tell him that the _Tiger_ is hunting _Dragons!"_

A gust of wind blows the sand across their vision. When it settles, she is gone. Shaking his head, Kal tightens the cloak around his encounter suit, turning towards the horizon- the border, though he cannot see anything. Anything but more sand.

"Now?"

"_Now we take the final step,"_ Autochthon says, "_And we transit to Creation. Where I assure you, things will get much easier."_

Kal nods. And together, he and Wuffles take a step. The desert becomes...something more. The gray becomes colors, shifting and merging into a cacophony of light, of sound and motion. The infinite sands stretch out into something beyond infinite- beyond smell, beyond sight, beyond sound, it pulls at Kal beyond the physical.

He was no child when he went on Pilgrimage. He indulged, as any man would when left on his own. He has tasted alcohol, experienced the highs and crashes of the drugs available in his home galaxy. He has experienced intoxication, mind trips, hallucination.

This leaves all that to shame. And just as the pitch of the transition, the complete and utter disassociation of reality reaches a crescendo-

The black sky becomes blue. The sand before him becomes high grass and flat plane, with trees and clouds in the distance, rolling hills marking the horizon of the plain before him. He blinks, seeing a Sun in the sky- something that he realizes is not a sun, but _the Sun._

And he sees far past it, the pillar of stone that stabs the skydome before him, past the clouds and mountains, as the name _Meru_ echoes in his ears. It is more than familiar. More than simply the transition of endless desert to natural beauty that pulls at him. It is the realization, the simple memory.

_He is home._

"_Welcome!"_ Autochthon booms, "_To _**_Creation!"_**

And Kal promptly falls into a rice paddy.

* * *

...

* * *

Water still dripping from his coat, Kal mutters under his breath. He walks after Autochthon, stalking after him as Wuffles keeps pace and Kamilla lazily gusts next to the golden ball of crazy. The rice paddy has given way to faint rivers filled with fish, to dry grasslands heading towards mountains.

"So where," Kal yells, "Are we going?"

"_Oh, we're making a small stop."_ The eye turns, floating backwards. "_We just need to go a little further. I figure we're a few weeks travel north of the Pole of Fire! Which means we should be at my parking estate within five hours by walking!"_

Kal yanks his helmet off, just so Autochthon can see Kal's eyes and realize that the quarian has _no idea what he just said._ Wuffles extends his petals, glancing between the two. "_Autochthon,"_ the Geth states, "_None of these terms are familiar to any of us save yourself."_

The golden sphere coughs, bobbing up and down in an approximation of a patronizing nod. "_Ah. Yes! I forget, outside of Kamilla, none of you have been here. Yes!"_ The iris narrows, closing almost completely as the ball goes silent. Both synthetic and marine wonder if the eccentric has forgotten what he was going to say.

"_Well! Once we reach my personal transport- built by myself during my days as a _**_Titan!_**_- we shall take it to Meru, the capital city of the world, and arrange an appointment with the Incarnae to resolve this current situation! Once that is done, we can retire at my personal Manse outside of the Great City, and this will be resolved with haste!"_

The scientist-ball turns around, continuing forward. Kal glances over to Wuffles, who simply extends their petals and shrugs. "_Anyway!" _The ball does not turn to them, but keeps talking. "_I am rather glad to be back here. I worked very hard to help build this universe and I am pleased to see that it is still intact!"_

Kal rubs his hand over his chin, feeling the five days worth of stubble that has already grown in. He wonders how many of those terms he was supposed to know- and how many of them Autochthon _made up on the spot._ Hands balled into fists, he trots up next to the ball and the wind gust. "So," he says, "Wait. You _made_ this place?"

The sphere dips up and down. "_Myself and my kin. I created _**_many_**_ a thing here though _**_given!_**_ Many of them were not by my choice because my kin _**_stole and twisted my designs_ **_to suit their needs. However!" _He turns, hovering sideways and facing Kal. "_However I am still quite proud!"_

Kal works his jaw, breathing deeply. A faint smirk and he _smells_ things in the air. Scents, flavors. Many of which he hasn't ever known- save for deep, somewhere past his soul. Some of them are familiar. _So_ familiar. "I...think I might be from around here."

The iris shifts. "_Perhaps. One of your past incarnations could be from the South."_ The ball turns back forward. They pass huts on one side; tribes, with wagons surrounding them. _Nomads,_ something in Kal's memory tells him, and he feels his heart tug.

"So." He watches people running past. Watches people moving around. Yells and barking, cheers and song. "So, how long would it take us to just, say, walk to...Meru?"

"_Somewhere around eight months." _Kal skids to a stop. Autochthon lazily floats over, shrugging. "_Do understand, Creation is quite large!"_

Something picks up in the wind. His bare ear, pressed flat against his skull twitches. Running a hand through the thick dreadlocks hanging down to his shoulders, he narrows eyes. "_Well, there's also an ocean in the way,"_ Autochthon continues, ignored by Reegar.

The shouts and cheers have become screams. The songs and yells have become screams. Turning from the sphere as it continues prattling directions, Kal'Reegar takes off in a run towards the distant thatch huts and wagons.

Dirt kicks up behind him. Eyes narrow and he hears his own thumping heart. The cloak flutters behind him, and Kal'Reegar's eyes go wide with recognition as he hears the _roar_ that splits the air like a thundercrack. A word, unbidden, comes to his lips. "Tyrant Lizard."

* * *

...

* * *

Three toed claws tear holes into the ground, sending clouds of dust up with every thundering foot step. The massive tail hovers behind it; balanced, huge, two diminutive arms hang from the creature's massive chest. The bright red snout glistens with blood as it opens its mouth to reveal a jaw of razor sharp teeth, each the size of a man's arm.

The leather straps around its jaw and neck tighten. Roaring, the creature charges. The village before it is simple, fragile. Thatch houses held together by hemp and cord. Tents of hide and wooden planks. Wagons surrounding it, as a border and an escape route.

Smaller mounts run alongside the Tyrant Lizard, their shrieks and honks in time with the roar. Running on two legs, the size of a horse, white and brown feathers bristling in the sun. Raiders in white cloaks and white masks, they run alongside the giant beast, yelling in time with the cries of the animals.

The villagers- the nomads, work in frenzy. Gathering what they can upon wagons. Grabbing children, supplies, even as the raiding party crosses the horizon, charging directly at them. Arrows loosed from the village deflect off armor, deflect off wooden shields. Atop the Tyrant Lizard, a man in white rides standing and points a sword towards the village with a roar.

And then something impacts, a red blur blasting the ground into a haze of dirt. A thundercrack that makes the Claw Striders shriek and buck.

"Wuffles? You in position?"

He cranes his neck, the orange light of his omnitool crackling as it cools down. Palming his fist, he squeezes and listens to the knuckles crack. Bracing one foot behind him, he opens one hand, letting his right close into a fist. The dust parts and the Tyrant Lizard charges through. Closer and closer it comes to Kal, roaring with a mouth full of dust.

"Now."

And then the side of the beast's head explodes. Mid step it lurches. A final lunge and it pitches forward head first into the dirt. Dust and rock are thrown up into the air as momentum drags, flipping it end over end.

And finally coming to a stop in front of Kal. He waits, and hears the crackle of static in his ear, followed by,

"_Target neutralized."_

"Thank you. And thank Auto for me for storing a copy of your rifle."

Kal takes careful steps forward, towards the cooling corpse of the giant. Looks like something out of the Marine training on alien fauna. Like something you'd find on Tuchanka in the more radioactive parts. But he swore he saw someone riding it, before Wuffles took it out.

The answer comes in a burst of flame, igniting his cloak. Swearing, Kal unclasps it, tossing it aside as it burns, and turns just as a man in white lands in a crouch on the beast. Tall. White cloak, a white breastplate, white mask and hood covering everything save red eyes. He stands, holding sword in one hand and sheathe in the other.

"I liked that mount," he says.

He leaps off, flipping and landing in a crouch. Rising, he extends the sword- a long, thin metal blade longer than his arm- at Kal. Flame wraps around it, swirling like twin serpents to the tip of the sword.

"Ah great." Kal mutters under his breath, clenching his fists and activating his knuckledusters, "Middle of nowhere and I run into someone with fancy powers."

The man stabs the scabbard into the ground, and tosses off his hood and mask. And in that moment, Kal receives the latest in his line of surprises for that day. Dark blonde hair, red eyes...and tanned, pinkish skin, a nose which is not flat, ears not pressed against the sides of his skull, features matching up to

"Humans," Kal whispers, "You're _human."_

"I'm no _mortal,"_ the man growls, voice like the crackling of kindling, "Whatever _you_ are, I am Fen Sky Splitter. _Chosen of the Dragon of Fire." _A roar, and he leaps, trailing fire from his sword as he flies towards Kal. "And whatever you are is _dead!"_

* * *

...

* * *

The silver iris narrows, the sphere rotating from side to side. Glancing up, down, speeding over the field of wheat, muttering in dead languages and bobbing between stalks. Past confused farmers, past straw effigies, past stone and wood huts.

"_I left it _**_right here!"_** Autochthon rises above the field. The iris opens completely and the plates rotate on either side, swears in five languages booming through the miles of farmland. "_I left it parked right here! RIGHT HERE!"_ Lowering himself, he closes in on a farmer; a lanky man in a straw hat and holding a wooden hoe. "_This is an outrage! I _**_demand_**_ that I be notified of where my sky skiff has been taken!"_

The ball stops. The iris narrows and he meets the human's eyes. "_Sir! I must talk with your superior at once! Who is the representative of the Solar Deliberative in these parts?"_

The farmer mouths the words. Gap toothed mouth open, he shrugs. "The wha?" Loose brown tunic and pants hanging off of him, he leans on the ho. "Never heard of them. Nearest town's about fifty miles east. Might want to try the Terrestrial Court?"

The iris narrows, following by the top plates shifting down. "_The what?"_

"Ya know. Terrestrial Court." The farmer places a hand on top of the sphere, rotating it to the left. "Go about ten...no, no. Twenty miles. Circle'a stones with a pointed rock at the center. Knock on the biggest stone twice, should let'ya in."

The eye turns back to him. Silver plates narrow around the iris and it shifts up and down in a nod. "_Yes. Terrestrial gods. Novel."_ It focuses its eye on the human. "_Thank you very much, good citizen! Please, take this as a token of my appreciation."_

Turning, the eye speeds away. Scratching the back of his head, the farmer shrugs. "What token?" He turns, back to field. And then looks up. And up. All the way to the visored headpiece of the golden, artifact Warstrider now standing in front of his hut.

"Now what the heck am I supposed to do with that?"

* * *

...

* * *

"So...so what the Hell _is_ he?" Purple eyes narrow.

"Ronin, obviously. Hm. So." Fingers tap on leather. "What do we do? Tell the old man?"

A cough. "If he heard we called him that he would-"

"Appear right behind you and point out that he has better things to do?"

Two yelps in surprise. A cough, and the sound of metal tapping on rock. "What is this? Who is that?" Purple eyes narrow. "Journeys, but...hmph. Well?"

Fingers _quickly_ tap on leather. "Well, he's definitely outside Fate. His companion is, too, the one that killed the Tyrant Lizard. And...ahem...well."

"Show me." It is shown. "Oh son of a _bitch."_ A grunt. "Deal with it."

Two long held, now released breaths. "Okay. What are we going to do?"

A tap. A small chuckle. "Do this."

* * *

...

* * *

The blade passes through Kal's neck. But it does not kill. It hits air, instead, and Sky Splitter carries on momentum through the place where his enemy was. A swear and he turns, kicking up dirt, spinning the sword in one hand.

A shot rings out, and Sky Splitter swings. The ground in front of him explodes, a cloud of dust and dirt obscuring all by the flaming sword as he steps through.

Yelling, he leaps again, Kal ducking and rolling under him. Pushing off his hands, the marine lands in a crouch. And the sun flares, the air splits, and a fine longsword embeds itself in the ground in front of him. Wrapping a three fingered hand around the hilt, he pulls it out, giving it a practice swing and bringing it up to catch the fiery steel.

_How the Hell am I doing this,_ Kal asks himself. A flash of light and he has the hilt in both hands. Instinct locks the blade against his, his face calm as he sees the ever heightening anger on the _Dragonblooded's_ face.

A deep breath. Eyes narrow and Kal feels it flow through him. He deflects the sword to the side, jumping back. Swings down and drives the enemy's blade into the ground. It becomes reflex. It becomes thoughtless. It makes him focus; but not on the yelling opponent. On what is around and in front and beyond him.

Like the strings of a lute, fluctuating with every step. Like a spider's web of possibility and fate. Like a marionette, connecting that sword of his enemy, and him. With a single flick of the wrist, Kal cuts through the air, not at his foe. But as Sky Splitter closes the distance and swings, the sword strikes-

But buries itself in the ground in front of Kal. The words ring like bells. **Impeding the Flow.** He remembers them. Internalizes them. Meets the eyes of this foe. He sees all the possibilities before him of what may happen, what will happen, and what must happen. He sees every attack he can make. He sees every choice he can make. He sees every option.

And because he can, he takes _all of them._

There is a flash of steel. The sword drops to the ground, along with the hand holding it. The blade bursts from the back, spraying blood along the dirt and mud. The head drops to the ground, and the body soon follows.

Kal gives no heed to the raiders as they retreat, following the grisly death of their commander.

A flash of yellow and green, and Kal steps back as a scabbard impacts the ground in front of him. Picking it up, he turns to the direction it came from, and sees something- someone. A black hood and mask, revealing only purple eyes. "Wait!" But either not hearing Kal- or spurred on by his yell, the man is gone.

Sliding the blade along the scabbard to clean off the blood, he thrusts it into its sheathe. Turning, he watches as the wagons retreat- an empty field where a village was, the time he bought them not wasted.

"_Creator Kal'Reegar. We apologize for not offering further assistance."_ Kal turns as Wuffles approaches, folded up rifle on their back. "_After the commander deflected our shot, we could not risk a deflection hitting you."_

Kal nods, reaching out and squeezing the Geth's shoulder. It feels as hard to the touch as the real thing. But files that away for later. "We alone?"

A gust is his answer, holding up the decapitated body. Kamilla shakes the corpse, then disappears into the distance, before coming back for the head.

"Right." Kal rubs the bridge of his nose. "Let's get going. Maybe find, I dunno. We're in a big fantasy magic...thing world. There should be a tavern around here somewhere."

Wuffles extends his petals. "_We are unsure. If the inhabitants of this world are human, how will you able to find nutrition?"_

Kal shrugs. "Fucking magic, as it damn well should be." He begins walking, picking up his burnt cloak and shrugging it over his shoulders. Wuffles follows, stowing his rifle.

* * *

...

* * *

Black pitch dribbles onto the stone and brass floor. The woman, clad in white, eyes black and a third unfolded upon her brow, watches through the mists and brass well laid before her. Smiling, yellow teeth bared, she claps her hands with a girlish giggle of pure, undiluted glee.

"**Oh my,"** she purrs, voice not hers, "**He doesn't even know about the Usurpation! This is _delicious!"_ **Reaching into the bowl, the Voice of the Yozi shoves another handful of popcorn and chews with an open mouth.

A cough, deep and throaty. She looks up, and smiles with large yellow teeth. Sashaying over, past the well and over stone and brass tiles, as the skylight shines down with viridian rays, she sways her hips over to the sole other occupant of the private chambers.

Tall, gray hair already shifted back to brown, clad in a striped, double breasted suit. He closes his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his benefactor puts on the show, not even reacting as the being _possessing_ her makes her wrap her arms around his neck.

"**Jaaaack,"** she purrs, rolling the name on her tongue, "**I think I-"**

He opens his eyes. Green flame folds out into an eye and burning fire on his forehead. "I said," he says through gritted teeth, "Not through the puppet."

The pitch flows back into her eyes. The eye on her forehead closes. Blinking, she collapses against him as he catches her. Helping her stand, he is rewarded with a faint smile right before the sun goes out.

"He gets upset when people do that," she says, shaking her head.

The man shrugs, pulling out a cigarette. "Well." Lighting it, he lets it float up to his mouth. "He also knows that unlike him, I have _standards."_

The chambers- the entire structure- shakes. Two massive hands composed of living shadow wrap around both full wall windows on either side, lifting it off its moorings and into the sky as the girl screams. The shadows shift. Retract, but do not retreat. The girl holds onto him as he offers a hand, and the chambers are flooded with yellow light as the single eye opens.

**Jack. Why do you always interrupt my fun?**

He rolls his eyes. "Because unlike you, I have a _real_ job?" Jack Harper stares at the slitted yellow eye of his employee, his benefactor. He does not react to the high pitched, tectonic giggle.

**Oh, like always. We need to find you someone to settle down with.** The eye shifts, it's focus going to Jack to the other. **Lilun, dear. Give us some time alone.**

The girl bows, and hurries out. The black pupil of the cat eye watches her retreat, past the well and out the door. Footsteps stop. Both know she is standing just outside. Mainly because the stairs now lead to_ nothing._

"What do you want?" the Illusive Man asks.

Another high pitched, stone shaking giggle. The grating sound fills the air. Jack steps back as the long silver talon pierces the ceiling, repeatedly. The Dragon, tapping its finger.

**Hm. What do I want? I want my face imprinted upon the skulls of newborn children so I am the first and last thing thing they ever see. I want mm what do I want? I want to be at the center of _your_ galaxy, so that I may define your hopeless and chaotic reality. I want redheads delivered to me hourly, and yes this includes my sister, though while we are not related and it is not incest, I tell myself that anyway to get myself aroused.**

The eyes focuses on Jack. Fills the room with baleful yellow light.

**Oh, yes. But you mean _What do I want now?_ I want you to put on the big boy pants and get some sand proofed boots, Jack. You're going to _Creation._**

* * *

...

* * *

Hours stretched, leading the quarian, the pile of gods, and the body dragging wind out of the grasslands. They pass the first trees as the moon lazily drags across the sky. Of course, that small part of Kal which remembers this place somehow knows it's not a _moon._ It is, in fact, a _battle station._

He rolls that over his tongue. Shaking his head, he looks around. Lets his senses expand, ever so slightly. A hand runs over the bark of a large tree. He feels it- through his suit. Like cords of string wrapped around old bark that speaks to him.

"_Creator Kal'Reegar?"_

Kal nods with a faint, knowing smirk. "I can...I dunno." A faint, small chuckle. "I think I can sense something. The Loom."

The petals extend. "_Creator Kal'Reegar, we were unaware that you have taken up the hobby of knitting. We will file this with relevant data."_

Kal turns to the Geth. Opening his mouth to clarify, he nonetheless is interrupted by,

"_That was a joke."_ Wuffles flattens their petals. Kal stares at him, hand dropping to his side. "_EDI has educated us in unexpected humor. We find it is an effective way to dismiss tension."_

Reegar rolls his eyes and continues on. They walk through the forest, through bushes and vines. Glancing from side to side as they continue on, Wuffles makes quick, sharp sounds. Notices vines moving in response. "_Fascinating. Our status apparently gives us the ability to communicate with nature."_

"Not surprised." Folding the cloak around him, Kal takes the point. Perk his ears and hears movement. "Crap. Wuffles, we're not alone."

The rifle extends. "_Acknowledged."_ Kal flattens against a tree, as Wuffles climbs up one in two hops. Going flat against a branch, the Geth presses its iris against the scope on the top of the anti-material rifle, scanning from side to side.

"_Switching to infrared. Located. We are not alone. Locating...encampment found."_ Petals extend. "_We are five hundred meters from an encampment. Multiple heat signatures."_

Nodding, Kal darts. Tree to tree, he moves in quick leaps, seconds between each motion. He hears the faint rustling above of Wuffles following. Sees the fires in the distance; the first signs of the roofs. Through gaps in the foliage, he sees buildings- an encampment, but the buildings don't look like tents or huts.

He sees angular, short houses with peaked roofs. He sees a circular formation of them around a dome with a spire of some sort of metal jutting out of the center. He sees walls; emplacements. Stone towers at the four corners of the fort. Which it is, he tells himself. Not an encampment.

It's a forward base. And he can't help but notice how the buildings are all bright _red._ He notices the architecture; tiled roofs coming to sloped peaks. And dragons.

And then he notices the spear pointed at the back of his neck.

"Crap."

Hands on the back of his head, he's lead through the gates, past the walls. He smells the cooking meat over the fires in front of the houses. Hears the clicking from Wuffles as they are lead in side by side. Surrounding them are...quite a few people. All in armor; red, blue, green, multiple colors. All the same style.

He remembers seeing some old human movies on his Pilgrimage. Comes back to him. _Samurai._ They're armored up like _Samurai. _Walked through the camp, the Geth and the Sidereal are lead to the dome, as it opens, and someone walks out. Tall, armor different- more advanced, more form fitting.

The light is not good- but they can make out the features. Very _familiar_ features.

"_Shepard Commander!"_ All four petals extend. The iris opens fully.

Kal blinks, mouthing the words. Watching as the woman- as the person who is apparently _Commander Jane Shepard-_ walks towards them and extends a hand. Which then wraps with emerald light, flaring for a brief second before washing over the both of them and doing _nothing._

The woman walks forward, the light better illuminating her features. She is, as they saw, completely identical to Jane Shepard. Red hair pulled back into a ponytail. Defined cheekbones, small scar on her lower lip, green eyes. Same face. Same figure. Except for one thing.

Her skin is bleached white, and solid marble.

"Drat," Mnemon of House Mnemon says, "That usually works."

**-End Chapter 2-**


	3. And Then Autochthon did Something

"**Well, **well." A white finger taps on red lips, green eyes wandering up and down. Fine red silk moves about her as she walks around the white stone table and lets fingertips gently turn the page of the open brass tome. "You are certainly not anything I have encountered before. So."

She folds her arms under her chest. The lanterns fixed in a ring around the ceiling bath the room in imitation sunlight, reflecting off the golden tiara that weaves through her hair. Her armor hangs suspended next to the table, and a faint and knowing smirk pulls at the corner of her lips.

"Let's start with introductions." Her voice is the same as Shepard's. Same accent, same tone, same pitch same _everything._ Save for her words being longer, her vocabulary more refined. That, and the _complete_ lack of anything that can be considered _compassion._ Or _mercy._

"I do not know who this _Commander Shepard_ is, but apparently she is easily mistaken for _me._" Nostrils flare and green eyes narrow. "I am **Mnemon.** Founder and leader of the _House of Mnemon, e_ldest daughter of the Scarlet Dynasty, the Lady Dominie, and heir to the Scarlet Throne. _Your turn."_

Kal'Reegar feels a chill. Part of it is the...juxtaposition. His interactions with Jane Shepard have shown him that, while she is a strict, inspiring and quite frankly _scary_ person when she has to be, at her core she cares as deeply for her allies, friends and crew as much as any Captain he's served under. The woman before him, physically identical, either hides that compassion much better than Shepard or possesses none at all.

Part of it is also the situation. His encounter suit is piled on the table next to the book, and he is currently standing in a pair of tight undershorts with his arms bound to the wall and feet bound to the floor.

Next to Kal, Wuffles extends their petals. The manacles on their wrists are the same, save for the inscriptions and the material they are made out of. The rifle is next to the encounter suit, extended and powered down. Both stare at the woman as she narrows her eyes to simple green slits and waits for their response.

It is times like this that Kal is glad he is a man of few words. "Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna. Quarian Migrant Fleet Marines. Chosen of Journeys."

Green eyes roll. "Wonderful," she mutters, reaching into her robes as she walks towards him, "Did they let you out of Yu Shan early or are you some poor Ronin who exalted in the middle of nowhere?"

Kal cocks an eyebrow. "You know, you're second person who-" The rest of the statement is cut off by the knife digging into his cheek and the blood filling the grooves in it. "The heck was that for?"

A second metal plate closes over the knife. "Precautions." A snort and a grumble. She walks to the tome, walks to the table. Flat heeled shoes click over the stone tiles. "Quarian. Never heard of that nation. Even if you are a Sidereal, you don't appear purely human." A click of the tongue. "May have to simply cart the both of you back to the Isle."

Turning her attention from Kal, she centers her eyes upon the restrained Geth. "And you. You collection of little gods." She leans against the table. If her gaze was a physical _thing_ it would pin him to the stone wall. "What are you?"

The eye twitches. The petals extend, then fold back flat against the long head. "_We are Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth."_

Mnemon works her jaw. "Wuffles." She blinks. Stares at the platform. "What."

* * *

.

**Chapter 3:**

**And Then Autochthon did Something With No Foresight**

.

* * *

"_Yes! HELLO! HELLO!"_

Floating atop the highest mountain he could find, Autochthon greets the dawn with yells, orders, and swears. Floating above the peak, he bellows at the top of his mechanical lungs at the passing sun. Louder and louder with every roar.

"_Hello! It's me! We need to talk!"_

There is no response. No indication he is heard, or even acknowledged.

"_Get down here you perfect bastard! You have some explaining to do!"_

* * *

_.._

* * *

Sunlight starts peaking in the window. He is guessing...three? Four hours since they were captured, at least, which have been spent with him and Wuffles watching the woman pour over a steady stream of books carried in by armored men. Glancing at Wuffles, Kal sees them shrug, and turns back to the table.

"Excuse me, can I-"

"No," Mnemon raises a finger. "Quiet." Kal purses his lips. Works his jaw. "If you are _thinking_ of speaking, do _not._ You will only distract me."

Kal closes his eyes, breathing deep. Wuffles extends their petals, glancing from the quarian to the woman as the door closes upon the last soldier leaving. Sitting at the table, the white skinned Not-Commander Shepard continues pouring over the books, eyes narrowed as she mouths the words.

"_We offer clarification of-"_ A white finger is extended. Wuffles' words die on their lips. Speaker. Processor. Either way, the Geth resolves to stay quiet.

The room is quiet, save for the faint whir of the petals, and the crackle of old paper turning. Names are whispered by the white woman, eyes like coals on the books. Muttering under her breath as her nose crinkles and nostrils flair. "...had to work so hard to learn about the Sidereals," she mutters, tapping gold embroidered fingers on the table.

Eyes level on Wuffles. "And I still don't know just what you _are,"_ she says.

Petals extend. The eyes shifts to her. "_We are Geth."_

Green eyes narrow like emerald slits, even as she seizes a black and silver lined quill and places it on a blank scroll. Folding her arms, she leans back and purses her lips. "Clarify," she says, and the quill writes the words on its own.

"_Geth are a consensus of virtual intelligences that have become artificial intelligences. We were created by the quarians two hundred and ninety eight years ago."_ The quill scribbles this down, moving on its own. "_According to Autochthon, we are best understood as a race of Least Gods which have upgraded themselves to Animating Intelligences."_

The eyes go wide. "What?" She blinks, rubs the bridge of her nose. "According to _who?"_

The iris widens, and the petals flatten against the head. She pushes out of the chair, stomping over to him and grabbing him by the chin. "_We were informed of our equivalent status by Autochthon."_ The iris narrows. "_He has been traveling with us."_

Her eyes narrow. And next to them, Kal's closed eyes twitch. Something he has been thinking about, training, practicing, finally comes to the fore. Something wells, deep within. Something he needed, something he wanted. Limbs become harder. Sinews become stronger. He mouths the words and it becomes effortless, even as the name whispers in his ears; **Burn Life.**

The manages stretch, crack, and break as he yanks them from the wall. Cracked and broken chains drop around him, flying around him as he pulls with his arms and legs. Momentum carries; he hits the ground with his shoulder and rolls to his feet- quick, effortless- facing the copy of Tali's Captain as she turns to him.

Mouth open, hands clenched into fists, Kal narrows his eyes to the marble-skinned woman. "Lady, get your hands off my-"

He forgets the rest. Marble, as it turns out, is hard. Even harder when at speed. Something Kal realizes when Mnemon strides over to him and delivers an open-hand slap across his face that sends him to the floor.

She appraises him with her eyes as he climbs to his feet. Taller than her by half a head, eyes wide, rubbing his jaw. "Did." He feels his cheek. Relatively certain that loosened some teeth. "Did you just _slap_ me?"

The left hand swings, ringing out with the sound of stone meeting face, and Kal is once more on the ground.

"Yes." She smiles. "Yes, I did."

Hand over his jaw, he stumbles to his feet. "I..._keelah_ Lady, if you would give us a minute to explain, and if you stopped _slapping_ me-"

"Guards." She narrows her eyes. "Deal with him."

He glances from side to side. Hands curl into fists. Mentally he begins clicking the switches for charms, for power, to bring to the upcoming fight. Then he figures out it was a ruse. Well, figures it out _after_ Mnemon walked over slapped him _again._

* * *

...

* * *

The iris narrows. Petals raise. Watching the events unfold before them, Wuffles tilts their head. The eye flicks from side to side, observing. Recording. Saving for future analysis.

_Query,_ the Geth observe, _What did the five fingers state to the face of Creator Kal'Reegar?_

_ SLAP._

Kal stumbles back. To his credit, he doesn't go down, although he does struggle to keep his footing. Bracing his hand on the wall, holding onto the remains of the manacles, he rubs his jaw. Both cheeks are bright red. Both eyes are swimming. Still, he doesn't fall.

"Don't think I'm afraid to hit a woman!"

Mnemon intertwines her fingers and stretches her arms. "Then that will make an amusing diversion." She smiles, not unkindly. "On the other hand, I am quite sure that this will continue to entertain me for _hours."_

He lunges. The fist cocks back and swings, a single straight punch. Exacting and precise- aimed for the side of the jaw for a quick knock out. It hits- not her jaw, but her extended finger, and she cocks an eyebrow before slapping him again.

"My, my. You have some genuine courage," she purrs, letting him stumble back as she rests her hand on her waist, "If I removed your genitals and grafted them onto one of my mortal sons, do you think that would transfer to them?"

Knuckles pop. He steps forward, swinging fast enough to make the air burn around his fist and lays into her with a blow _Wuffles_ can feel the force of. Mnemon simply bobs her head to the side, then to the other side, lazily dodging him as she looks almost disinterested. In fact she is, using the dodging as an opportunity to examine the shape of his ears.

Almost an admonishment, she steps aside as his last punch carries him forward, presses her finger against his shoulder to turn him to face her, and backhands him.

Stumbling back, Kal snarls, grits his teeth and swings at her. Not a straight punch, not a precision blow, just a wild swing. She ducks under one. Idly deflects another. Then jabs out with her finger into his shoulder as he swings again, making the arm go limp and hand open. And then momentum carries it the rest of the way.

And Kal's open hand slaps Mnemon across the face.

The dynast's nostrils flare. Stamping her foot down, she narrows her eyes and swings her open hand across Kal's face. He snaps to the side, digs his heel into the ground, and slaps her back just as hard.

The iris moves in its socket. Wuffles watches, focusing on Kal, then on Mnemon, focusing on the slapper, rather than the slappee. The dome begins echoing with the sounds of the super supernals and their slap fights, grunts and swears as the petals raise and the Geth comes to the consensus that, yes.

Creator Kal'Reegar is engaging in a slap fight with someone a head shorter than him. He is also losing.

Geth are wise. For they have understood that the secret to wisdom is to admit that their knowledge is not absolute. It is with effort and disappointment that they realize that Creator Kal'Reegar has not realized the lack of knowledge they possess, as they are currently, to use vernacular appropriate to Shepard Commander, "_Getting slapped around the head and neck until he cries like a ten year old girl."_

Perhaps it is this woman's resemblance to Shepard Commander which grants her these abilities. The terminal designated Wuffles makes a note to flag this for potential investigation and experimentation.

A similar note is also examined, and a hypothesis is created. Briefly examining a recording, it decides to test the hypothesis directly.

"_Sidereal,"_ the voice bites, out of Wuffles' speakers, "_Are they letting you out of Yu Shan young, or were you some unlucky Ronin who exalted in the middle of Hell?"_

Mnemon stops in mid-swing, turning towards Wuffles as Reegar's hand whacks into the side of her head. She turns, narrows her eyes, and extends her hand. A flash of vermillion, and a large white rock smashes into his face.

"You!" She stomps over towards Wuffles, hands balled into fists. Wuffles compares her walking posture with that of Shepard Commander. Her hand strikes out and grabs the Geth by the chin. "Where did you hear that? _Who said that?"_

The petals extent. The iris narrows. "_We encountered a Traveller when we were in the Cecelyne desert. This Traveller said a similar phrase regarding Creator Kal'Reegar's status as a Sidereal Exalted."_ The iris opens. The Geth tilts their head as Mnemon's eyes become glowing coals. "_Hypothesis; The Traveller's behavior and appearance was markedly similar to that of Shepard Captain. Your behavior and appearance is remarkably similar to Shepard Commander."_

Behind them, Kal struggles to his feet. Mnemon idly swings her hand at him and nails him in the face with another rock. Neither pay attention to his groans.

"_Consensus,"_ Wuffles states, "_The Traveller we encountered in the desert is your mother."_

* * *

...

* * *

Lazily floating along, Autochthon floats into the swamp some hundred or so miles from that ridiculously chatty court in the grasslands. Perhaps, the Great Maker muses, Perhaps here there is someone who can explain to him the details of what he was told- that his _mind_ vast and brilliant as it is fails to truly comprehend.

On either side, trees hang with sacrifices- dead men, hands tied, sacrificed to the local gods. As Autochthon passes them, they are plucked one by one and carried off, disappearing into the distance and where ever Kamilla takes them.

Then a dead tree is uprooted, and carried off as well. Autochthon pays it no heed. He would lecture Kamilla on property, but what interaction he has had with Adorjan- from a considerable distance- tells him that any child raised by her would have a...lacking...understanding of such.

He feels the magical barrier, and where there was uninterrupted swamp land, Autochthon now finds a recessed stone amphitheater. Guarded by three sitting gods; sitting on rickety wooden chairs, three lanky individuals made out of driftwood, and gently playing elongated sanxians with leaf covered fingers.

"_Hello,"_ Auto says, voice more tired than angry at this point, "_I have business with your...Terrestial Court."_

"The Terrestrial Court?" the center god asks.

Plates shift. The iris narrows. "_Yes. Yes, that."_

The one on the left keeps playing. "Well, what's yer business, then?" the right one asks, "An who're you, anyways?"

"_I wish to speak with the most ancient of your court."_ Thunder rumbles overhead. "_And I. Am _**_Autochthon!"_**

The three gods stare at him. One turns, spitting a wad into the swamp. "Who?"

The iris narrows more. Plates shift in around it. "_Just let me in, damn you."_

* * *

...

* * *

The center of the court, populated by many gods. All take forms related to their purviews. Those of trees are wooden, leaves budding off of them as they mill about. Gods of swamps, of dry areas, of plateaus. Of insects and creatures great and small.

A quick check of his extensive vocabulary taken from many worlds and countless languages gives him an appropriate title.

_Yokels._

The iris closes to a small hole, as the ball hovers and gently weaves between shuffling insects and scarecrows. Terrestrial Gods, Autochthon thinks to himself. Where are their overseers? Where are the Celestials who are supposed to be hearing their reports? These systems were put in place for a _reason_ damn it.

The air of the court is muggy and wet. Built into a _swamp_, of course. Flies- some actual flies, some gods in the shape of flies- buzz past him as he glances from side to side. Silver plates rotate around the pupil like a hungry buzz saw. The ball ducks underneath the legs of a massive man made out of wood, past several young women with leafy green skin with vines wrapped around their necks, and clears his throat as he floats to the center of the court.

"_Hello! Yes! Hello!"_ He makes a quick circle. Sees annoyed looks on...faces, maybe. Not sure if everything has a face. Turns to the large rock with arms and a pair of eyes sitting at the front of the court. "_Hello, I'm sorry for interrupting but I am in need of a historical update! Could the eldest member of your court please come forward?"_

The sounds of heavy footfalls shakes the court. Autochthon turns as a small hill walks over. A hill with feet, covered in moss and saggy vines, walking on eighteen feet and with eyes in a vertical line down its front.

The iris rotates in and out on the front of the sphere. It rises, meeting the level as the top of the hill god as it ambles over. Moss moves and tears to reveal two arms of articulated stone, reaching up and pulling off moss from the crest to reveal a sideways-opening mouth filled with boulders for teeth.

"That would be _me."_ The voice is grinding rocks and crushed stone. The many many eyes all focus up on the golden ball. "And you would be, little ball?"

A deep breath comes out as a harrumph. "_I am _**_Autochthon."_**Thunder cracks overhead. No one looks up. "_And I must ask, how old exactly are you?"_

Arms akimbo, the hill god extends its legs and stands upright a bit more. Moss and stones fall off as it rights itself. "I am the most ancient god in these lands, ball! I trace my memories all the way back to the high age of the Shogunate itself!"

The iris narrows. Plates shift from the top of the ball. "_The _**_what?"_**

Shaking back and forth, an arm extends out the side of the sphere. Long, skeletal, it ends in two fingers which are then pressed against the top of the sphere. Rubbing his head slash eye, Autochthon lets out a loud groan. "_Alright. Just. How old are you? In years?"_

The hill god cocks his or its bulk skywards. A muffles hush falls over the court. "Good ball, I am at now my fifteen hundredth birthday!" Muffled gasps and some whimpers. Surprise at the exact number, they say, for few ever remember being that old.

"_Fifteen hundred? One thousand, five hundred?"_ Autochthon nods. "_Yes, yes, very impressive, very ancient indeed _**_I have stools older than you!"_**

A rift opens with a flash of white. A three legged wooden stool jams itself into the muck in front of the golden sphere. "_See! See here!"_ Another arm pops out, pinchers pulling the furniture up. "_Master craftsmanship. Iron wood. Wonderfully comfortable. _**_Seventeen hundred years old!_**_"_

He tosses it up and away. Behind him, several scarecrow gods dive onto it, fighting over it and pulling at the legs. One larger scarecrow grabs two legs and swings it, bludgeoning his contemporaries and running. "_And you are the _**_oldest_**_ god here? Is there _**_no one_**_ older than you in this entire _**_Terrestrial Direction?"_**

* * *

...

* * *

Green eyes narrow to glowing red coals. Still cupping Wuffles' chin, Mnemon _drops_ the image of immaculate grace and posh, dignified nobility. Instead, there is only _fire_ in front of the Geth, now. Only the single minded raw _avarice_ and _drive._ "Tell me," she says, "The _last_ thing she said to you."

The petals extend. If the Geth feel threatened, they do not show such weakness. "_The exact words were for Autochthon to instruct his kin that 'The Tiger is now hunting Dragons.'"_

Nostrils flare. Her hands release Wuffles' head, turning as the petals flatten against the elongated head. Gold embroidered hands clench into fists as she walks, slowly but dignified. Shoulders rolled back and red lips a tight line. "I was right," she says. Her voice is a quiet whisper, slow and precise. "I. Was right."

She stops at the table, eyes closed. Hands clenching and unclenching. Slow and steady breaths, shoulders rising and falling with each one. And then her leg snaps out and sends the table flipping end over end, crashing on the other side of the room with a roar of "_I WAS RIGHT!"_

The petals rise and extend fully. The only sound in the room is Mnemon's heavy breathing and the sounds of knuckles cracking under marble. That, and Kal sitting up, raising his hand, and making the first syllable.

"Do not say a _word."_ Mnemon pins him with a glare, and a white rock that has formed in her hand and aimed at his crotch. "You! You say _nothing! At all!_" Her eyes become glowing coals. The stone cracks to powder, and another takes its place. "You have _no idea_ how cross I am with you! I had to work _so hard_ to find out about the Sidereals! And remember them! And you tell _anyone_ who asks!"

Kal wordlessly collapses onto his back, resting both hands on his bright red face. "_Query."_ Mnemon whirls on the Geth, crushing the second stone in her bare hand and absently creating a third. "_Is our hypothesis correct?"_

She takes several deep breathes. More powder collects at her feet as she grinds every summoned rock with her bare fingers. Righting herself, standing up tall, she steps out of the ankle high pile of pebbles and powder and nods. "Yes. Yes you are. The woman you encountered in Cecelyne is, in fact, my mother."

She turns, rotating on one heel to the door. "Guards!" The doors burst open. A half dozen men in red samurai armor enter. Eyes glance, but they do not move otherwise, idly surveying the broken table, the semi-conscious Reegar, but keep centered firmly on the Dominae. "Bring us refreshments. And a new table."

She folds her hands at her waist as they exit, dragging the broken table out without a word. Turning to Kal and to Wuffles, she pulls her lips into a faint, cold smile. "Gentlemen. You have successfully graduated from beings I wish to vivisect to beings I wish to interview. Congratulations."

Kal weakly pumps a half-formed fist into the air. "And you," Mnemon half says, half growls, "Get dressed." A gesture, and Wuffles' manacles release. The Geth stumbles forward, and extends their petals as her hand once more cups their chin.

"_We have a new hypothesis,"_ they chimes in, "_Your usage of the term interview, combined with your so far observed actions, indicates that you intend to interrogate us."_

Her smiles goes just a bit wider.

* * *

...

* * *

The chestnut bounces off the golden plate. The plate shifts, and the iris rotates open. Turning, Autochthon stares at the source of the faint annoyance; a man- twice as tall as a man, in fact- make completely out of wood. Wearing leaves for clothing, a vine for a belt, with a jagged, oversides nose and foliage for hair.

Brown lips are clamped down on a branch like a cigar, and he yanks on the vines to make the half dozen nymphs at his side yelp and whimper. Autochthon meets his eyes, and closes the iris to deflect another thrown nut.

"_Yes."_ Autochthon opens his iris. "_Can I help you?"_

The tree man snorts. "Yeah, you can get ya shiny golden ass _outside._ Some of us got business here." As if for effect, he yanks the vines again. The nymphs- themselves no taller than a human, grab at their collars.

A plate moves upwards on the iris. "_Oh, yes. I see the problem."_ A widget folds out. A flash of gold and the vines are severed, all six girls dropping to their knees. "_There, they should be much happier now. Glad to help._" Autochthon turns, then stops and turns back. "_And since you threw those nuts at me, don't expect a tip."_

Half turning, Autochthon sees it out of the corner of his vision. Turns slightly as one of the nymphs tries to move away, followed by the wood man backhanding her. A long exhaled breath from the golden sphere and he turns back.

"_Hn. Seriously. This is an act, right?"_ The iris narrows. A plate on the right side rises. "_Because honestly, you can't be this over-the-top obnoxious, right?"_ He floats over. Plates along the top shift and move in imitation of a furrowing brow. "_I mean, I appreciate performance art, but, honestly?"_

Plates on the side shift. "_Well...no, no, I honestly don't. I hate performance art."_ The iris narrows. "_Honestly, seriously. Hate it. With a passion. But, of course all my kin _**_loved_**_ it and then used that as yet _**_another_**_ reason to-_"

And then the wood man slaps another nymph, grabbing her by the hair. Holding the six girls in one hand, either by the hair or by the throats, the massive wood creature ignores Autochthon's ramblings. Which then cease. "_Okay. Seriously."_ The iris narrows almost completely. "_Stop that."_

The six nymphs struggle in the Wood King's hand as it leans its oversized nose right into the eye and whacks him with the branch cigar. "You. Shut up." And for extra effect, he then slaps the ball with his free hand.

The plates shift. The iris narrows. "_You. You just slapped me."_

The large wooden hand again whacks against the golden sphere, followed by a low chuckle from the giant. "_Seriously." _The golden ball tilts up. Around them, the local gods start backing away. Murmuring of 'not being a good idea' and 'the king's pissed'. "_Stop that. Or you'll make me angry."_ The iris curls into a point. Lightning sparks beneath plates. "_You don't want that."_

The fingers curl, and the Wood King smirks as he flicks a long, leaf covered finger directly into the eye. "And why's that?"

And then, rather than staring at the ball, he finds himself staring at a wall made of solid gold. Looking up, he realizes soon enough that it is actually the gut- slightly distended, slightly off balance- of a golden giant man. He looks up, further up. At twice his height, the two facet cut eyes stare down at him, and the grill covering the lower half of his face discharges steam.

The left arm comes up. The hand opens, and the right fist grinds into it. Steam blasts out of the joints of the giant battle body. When Autochthon speaks, it is with a slow, level tone. And an answer.

"_That's why."_

* * *

**_..._**

* * *

**_Thirty Minutes of Stress Relief Later._**

Grunting, the giant lifts his foot out of the splinters. "_Oh...damn it. I got sap all over this."_ A digital click of the tongue and the facet eyes roll. "_Well, well. Back to Elsewhere with you." _A cough. He looks down to see the head of the Wood King still moving. "_Oh right."_

Autochthon extends his arm. A spear thrusts out, into and through the mouth, and pulls the head back in. "_Right. You're fuel, now."_

The battlesuit begins dissolving. It flows into white, turning liquid and fading away, releasing the eye as it drops down from the chest and hovers off the ground. "_Yes, yes yes yes. No need wasting all that good Essence. Doesn't grow on trees no wait it does."_ The eye glances around. Sees the empty amphitheater. "_Balls. They all ran away."_

He turns with a sigh, muttering about how now he has to find some other damn court of idiots and yokels, and sees the six nymphs huddled together. "_Oh. Oh, yes. Sorry about that."_ He coughs. "_Tend to get carried away. Can I help you?"_

The six girls rush him, all six sloppily kissing him on the top of the head and running out of the enclosure, laughing and cheering the entire way. A plate rises on the side of his head. The iris narrows. "_Well."_

The plates relax. Autochthon turns, releasing a long held in sigh and then comes face to face with a human girl standing in front of him. The iris opens and he emits a high pitched, warbling cry of alarm.

The girl smiles with bright white teeth and stands on her tip toes. "Hi!" And then lunges forward to hug the ball.

The iris shifts. The eye glances from side to side, then at the girl. She has short, messy golden white hair, a gap toothed smile, black eyes and dressed in white. Also, young. No older than eleven or twelve he guesses. The smile itself keys him in. The lack of knives, also.

"_Kamilla?"_

The girl nods. "Yep!" She releases the ball, and promptly climbs on top, sitting on him as two plates shrug and he begins lazily floating out of the court. "Sorry for surprising you, Uncle Auto, but you were ranting and stuff and you were really lonely!"

The iris narrows, then relaxes and opens. "_Well. I do appreciate the company."_ They pass the border of the Court, not seeing the minor gods shuffling back in and descending on the wood king's remains. "_Still, when did you re-assume human form?"_

"Just now." Her hands rest on the top of the sphere. Plates shift. A pair rise behind her to give her a better seat. Two golden handles pop out in front of her. "I've been really thinking and stuff since I started following you and Mister Reegar, and I kinda decided I wanted to talk with people and stuff."

"_Just like that?"_ The side plates shrug. The two pass a set up uprooted trees and a Yeddim swimming along the swamp, carrying a moss man on the back. "_I don't mind the company at all. But does your mother know where you are?"_

The girl nods, blonde hair bobbing up and down. Autochthon closes the iris shut. "_Oh dear._" He coughs. "_Well! I'm sure that she would approve anyway, because I never had the feeling she actively hated me."_

"Mama doesn't hate anyone, Uncle Auto!" The girl giggles, sitting up straight on her ball saddle. "Mama always told us that hate is an attachment, and any attachments leave you sad and crying! An' if you let go of attachments, then you'll be free to do anything!"

She nods. "An' also, she can follow us _anywhere!"_ The ball coughs. "Well, not here 'cause of oathy stuff and stuff, but if she can get to us she can always show up!"

They clear the swamp, floating over flat grassland and past distant fires. The faint murmur of realization in the mind of the maker as Kamilla hums along with the almost silent motions of the sphere. The part of Autochthon's mind that realizes that, yes. He was wrong. He had underestimated _everything_, and all his plans are ashes.

"_And now what?"_ he asks himself.

"Well, now we should find Mister Reegar and Mister Wuffles, Uncle Auto."

The iris snaps open. The ball lowers and Kamilla climbs off. "_Oh f I mean drat. I did abandon them to look for my sky skiff."_ A skeletal, wiry golden arm folds out and scratches the top of the sphere. "_I have no idea where they are."_

Kamilla rocks back and forth on the heels of her brown shoes. "I do! I was following Mister Reegar and Mister Wuffles and I know where they are!" The eye turns to her. Another yeddim stomps past them, towards the swamp. "They've been captured by dragonblooded!"

The iris closes again. "_...well."_ The skeletal arm drops. "_That's not good. That needs a rescue. Or something. Else. Which I'm not good at."_

The ball begins floating away, dragging the skeletal arm behind it. Kamilla skips alongside it, picking up the arm and taking its hand. "No no no! I think you'd be great at that! Mama always said that if you want something done right, it's gotta be done by you!"

The eye turns to her. Stopping, several plates rise around the iris. "_By me? You have a suggestion?"_

She smiles, wide and open and displaying all the teeth. "Yep! We can't rescue them like this, right?" The eye nods. "So you should fix up something to rescue them with!"

The iris snaps open. Lightning crackles in the cavity. "_Oh. Did you see something when looking for me? Something I can fix up?"_

The girl nods. She leans in and whispers it in his ear, and the lightning becomes brighter, and bright. And it starts as a small rumble, like crackling thunder deep within the sphere. Becoming louder, and louder with regular thumps. It becomes a laugh, cackling and deep, joyous and insane.

"_Oh. Oh _**_yes._**_ Perfect. Perfect!"_ The saddle expands, becoming a seat with a back rest. "_Come, my niece! Show me the way and we shall get to work! And we shall effect a rescue of the type that shall be seen all the way from Hell!_"

The girl leaps into her seat, gripping the handles as Auto retracts the arms and vents open in the back. "_Let us go, dear child! For science!"_

The girl pumps her arm into the air. "_AND GREAT JUSTICE!"_ The vents flare, and the mad inventor- and niece- speed off into the distance.

* * *

...

* * *

"Okay. So." The pen moves on its own. It is an _artifact,_ she explained, which means it has magical properties and utilizes Essence. It listens to them, and writes in response. "Your stars are engines, utilizing colliding gas to create heat and light." White fingers tap together. "I can see how that works."

Her index fingers press against her lips. "Additionally, everything in your universe is natrually attracted to each other- and this is what causes _gravity_. A simplistic explanation, yes, but close to accuracy." A contemplating hum. "_Fascinating._ Apparently, our universes use similar concepts, but the explanations are different in some areas."

Sitting on the other side of the white jade, rectangular table, Kal adjusts the two ice packs tied to either side of his jaw. His helmet rests on the table next to the sword. He has, wisely, not spoken.

"_We agree,"_ Wuffles continues. The Geth has split their hand into four fingers. Their pinky extends as they sip their tea, somehow. "_The behavior of the animistic least gods is very similar to chemical and molecular properties. Where the least gods of wood and fire communicate to create heat, energy, and charcoal, in our universe it is the interactions of matter and energy."_

Mnemon nods. "Interesting." She sips her tea, eyes still focused on the pile of gods in front of her. "Now, on a different subject. There are _humans_ where you come from."

The petals extend. "_We find that subject curious. A cursory examination of the raider that Creator Kal'Reegar killed confirmed that the anatomical structure of humans in Creation are the same as those in our universe. Additionally, there is the resemblance between yourself and Shepard __Commander."_

The Geth sips their tea. They take a biscuit from the tray next to them. A compartment opens next to the hole in their chest, and they deposit it inside to the sound of something grinding. "_We are not sure if this is coincidence. Considering the common factor of Autochthon, we do not believe so."_

Marble fingers tap. "That term. 'Creator', towards him." She inclines her head towards Kal. "What does that mean, exactly? Did he create _you?"_

The petals extend again. "_Negative. Creator Kal'Reegar's species, the Quarians, created the Geth, our species, two hundred and ninety eight years ago."_ The petals flatten. Sitting in the plush, high backed chair, Wuffles crosses their legs. "_We are a collection of Virtual Intelligences which combine together to create an Artificial Intelligence. In your terminology, we are Least Gods that combine to become an Animating Intelligence."_

A well-manicured eyebrow rises. "You're remarkably _wise_ for an animating intelligence." She dabs a biscuit into her tea. Places it on the plate next to the cup. "Still. I do have..._grattitude..._regarding the news about...Mother."

"That she's alive?" Mnemon narrows her eyes and glances at Kal as he speaks up. The quarian shrugs. "If it's any consolation, you hit harder than her."

Her nostrils flare, slightly. "_We are curious about the governmental system." _She glances back at Wuffles. "_Your mother, from your description, is the absolute monarch. Considering her age, did she not appoint an official heir?"_

Her elbows rest on the arms of the chair. Hands folded in front of her mouth, her eyes burn like coals. After a long moment and an exhaled breath, she closes them. "No. She did not. I suspect she organized the entire government to collapse without her. And the best explanation I have come up with, outside of it being _amusing_ to her, is that it was the _point." _She laughs, bitterly.

The light shifts. Wuffles tents their hands in front of them, merging the fingers back into two digits. "_This is an inefficient way to run a government. Our study and questions with Autochthon have indicated that you would be able to organize a more efficient system outside of your country."_

She purses her lips, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. She opens her mouth to respond- and then the tea ripples. They perk their ears at the sound of...something. Loud, booming. But muted.

"What is that?" she asks. She rises from the chair, sweeping out her dress and walking out of the room. Kal and Wuffles glance at each other, shrug, and follow. Kal fixes on his helmet as they catch up to her, the sounds getting louder and louder.

"What _is_ that?" Mnemon demands. They hear more sounds from outside. Yells, shouts. Footsteps of people- soldiers- running. "What _is that?"_ she repeats, walking towards the main entrance- a massive set of double doors lined with gold and jade, and throws them open.

And she freezes, looking up. Up, up, up. Further up until she sees the source of the _thunder._ Eyes go wide. Jaw hangs open. The same question is repeated, louder and with less curiosity than _dumbstruck horror._

_ "What _**_is that?!"_**

* * *

...

* * *

Clouds gather around the flat, stubby head. Spines run the length of the back of its short neck all the way down its spine, as the black and rusted armor shifts with every pull of its ancient and unbreakable sinews. A grill covers the bottom of its head, arranged like a mindless rictus grin, and neon pink eyes glow before releasing the first of the beams.

Silhouetted by the light of the moon, it does not roar. The thundering sounds are its footsteps as each steps brings it closer and closer towards the Realm encampment. Ballista-launched lances embed themselves into its armor but do nothing. Blasts of Essence from the wall mounted cannons wash off the armor.

Leveling hands, blasts of pink and white ripple out. The walls buckle. Dragonblooded hit by the beams float up and into the pulsing green at the center of its torso, disappearing into the distance to an unknown destination. As they disappear, the true scale becomes apparent when they are mere specks against the ancient giant.

The three stare at it, standing at the gate of Mnemon's command center. Kal's jaw hangs open. Wuffles extends their petals and tilts their head. "_We have amended our hypothesis. We are also here to protect Creation from Autochthon."_

Kal reaches out and pats Wuffles on the shoulder. "I think that hypothesis is proven, buddy."

"_Yes! HELLO!" _The voice comes not from the giant, but from behind them. They turn, and Mnemon tilts her head and stares at the three-meter-tall golden giant standing in front of them. Kal and Wuffles recognize Autochthon's grill-faced battle form, and dive for cover.

"Who..." she starts, but is interrupted by a voice that booms almost as loudly as the giant's footsteps.

"_I! Am _**_Autochthon!"_** Thunder cracks over head. Then Autochthon punches Mnemon in the face. She blurs backwards, extending a hand with gathering vermillion light. Then the shockwave hits and blasts her across the encampment and embeds her into the far wall.

Kal and Wuffles stare at the wall, then turn back at Auto. "_Kal'Reegar! Wuffles! I have come to _**_rescue_**_ you!"_

Wuffles extends his petals. Kal works his jaw underneath his helmet. "Are you _sure?"_

The eyes spark, and a dome of electricity lights up around him to electrocute a pair of blood apes that have appeared on his back. "_Damn monkeys but _**_yes!_**_ I am quite certain!" _Autochthon grabs them in his giant robot hands, and runs off into the night, whooping all the way and pursued by the dozens of materializing Blood Apes.

* * *

...

* * *

Some distance away, Kal Reegar rests his helmet on his knees. He forgot the sword back at the compound. His jaw is still aching, as is the rest of his face. Sitting on a rock in the middle of a dense forest, he rests his head on his hands and glances from side to side. Wuffles is standing ramrod straight. The iris is flicking from side to side. Hopefully recording this.

Next to him, the blonde human girl is sitting cross legged on the rock, watching with interest. He hasn't asked who she is, or why she was waiting for them. His gut feeling tells him that Auto may have science'd her family out of existence or something.

In the distance, the ridiculously massive robot continues its rampage, most likely depopulating countries.

On the bright side, he is now watching Autochthon in his battle body flailing around, with a half dozen Blood Apes on his arms and back and repeatedly hitting him with machetes.

"_Aaaaah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"_ The robot stumbles about, swatting at the elcor-with-human-faces as they beat and stab at him. "_Get your cursed weapons off of me, you damned dirty Blood Apes!"_

The three watch the robot run past, listening to the discharge of essence cannons. Then they hear more screaming, and watch as Auto runs past while being chased by a pair of very large and incredibly pretty wasps.

"So," Kal starts, and quiets down as Auto runs past, pursued by white deer made of worms. Kal blinks, and turns to the girl. "So. Who're you?"

She smiles, wide and with many teeth. "I'm _Kamilla!"_

Wuffles extends their petals fully. Kal works his jaw. "So, you're the body dragging wind that's been following us?" Kamilla nods with a giggle. "Okay. Question." Kal raises a finger, chewing his lower lip. "Where do you take those bodies?"

Kamilla giggles, rocking back and forth on the rock. "I'll never tee~eell," she sing-songs.

The forest flashes with gold, like the sun rising or a massive essence cannon being fired. The armor lurches back, golden smoke wafting off of it before disappearing and leaving the floating eye. "_Yes. Well. That may be the last of them, in theory."_ A cough, and he floats over. "_Excellent. We're all alive. Which is not necessarily problematic, as Kamilla did call claim to your bodies if the Dragonblooded killed you."_

Kamilla giggles, earning an alarmed glance from the quarian and the Geth. Kal coughs, and points a finger as the cloud-clearing head of the metal colossus lumbers past. "Okay. Thanks for the rescue. What is _that?"_

Auto turns. Narrows his iris. As if he has to remember he summoned it and unleashed it on the Mnemon encampment. "_Ahhh yes! _**_Radiant Majestic Presence,_**_ a construct I created when I absconded from Creation thousands of years ago."_ He turns back to them. Several sparks stream out of the plates. "_Yes, don't worry about those Terrestrials! Originally, the beams would shunt them to Autochthonia, but I have actually set it to link with the Design, so hence it will just send them to...ah...well, in your home universe, actually. Somewhere. Not in space, but planet or station. Maybe. Not sure!"_

Kal rests his head in his hands, palms pressed against his eyes. The iris of the golden sphere narrows. A slow running spark glows behind it. "_And...ah. And I...I...I seem to no longer have control over it."_ Several plates on top shift up._ "Oh dear."_

The giant begins moving off with thunderous foot stomps. Arrows, ballistas, and Essence cannons pepper its back to no effect. "Auto," Kal moans, "Where's it going?"

A map appears, hanging in front of the eye. "_Mm hm let me see. Got this map from a local terrestrial god."_ The eye glances up, then back down. Then up again, looking at the stars. Then back down. "_Hm. Mm. Yes."_ He turns back to the group. "_It's heading to Gem."_

The iris cycles shut. Kal moans and Wuffles extends all the petals. "_Well I'm reasonably sure an organized circle of Exalts can stop it so ONWARD!"_ The ball floats off. Or, at least, before Kal grabs him by a gap in his plates.

* * *

...

* * *

The moon hangs above them, silver light streaming through the canopy as the four move. Wuffles and Kal walk behind the ball as Kamilla sits on the seat on top of Auto. The sounds of distant thunder become quieter and quieter. All in all, they counted at least five dozen people being sucked into that...well, giant robot.

Kal hopes none of them ended up in the Flotilla. "Okay, so," he says, breaking the silence as they pass a set of bent over trees, "Auto, did you _find_ your sky skiff?"

A slow, rumbling cough. Slowly, the globe rotates, hovering backwards for a bit before stopping. Kamilla hops off, skipping over next to Wuffles. Glancing from side to side, the globe wobbles back and forth. Coughing, clearing his throat. Feeling the eyes on him.

"_Ah. Mm. Hm hm. Yes."_ Another cough. "_Well! Change of plans. Yes."_

Another long, hacking cough. Followed by the iris shutting, two long arms extending from underneath the sphere, and two sets of thumbs twiddling. "_I...maaaaaay have underestimated the effects of the Great Curse. Especially on the Solars, as of course they were merely acting as the Sun. As arrogant, full of purpose and flush with power and ruling over all of Creation with a golden fist."_

Kal rolls his hand, motioning for Auto to continue. Then adds, "Okay, _and?"_

Another cough. "_Ahem. And. Well. Let's see what happened oh yessssss some years ago the Solars were all killed by the Dragonblooded and the entire Deliberative was slaughtered and I can't contact the Sun and-_"

"And?" Kal's eyes go wide. "_And?_"

The golden ball sucks at non-existent teeth. "_Ah and Creation is half or maybe a quarter as big as I left it. And ninety percent of everything died in a massive plague. And civilization has fallen."_ A beat. Another cough. "_Twice."_

Wuffles extends their petals. Then, folds them back down. Kamilla purses her lips, rocking back and forth on her heels. Kal just holds his head in his hands. "Oh _God,"_ he moans.

Autochthon shifts the plates around his iris. Several red eyes in the forest around them flicker and close, shuffling away. "_I...am sorry I was under the impression, after cultural research, that the Quarians did not have gods but practiced ancestor worship-"_

"Oh god _I hate you so much,"_ Kal moans. He looks up, narrowing yellow eyes. "Auto. Answer me. How many people are there _left_ in this _entire universe_ that _know about you?"_

The eye shifts side to side. Kamilla walks over to a rock, sitting on it. "_Ah. Hm. Yes...ah! Twenty."_

"And how many," Kal growls, "Will not _kill you on sight?"_

Autochthon narrows the iris. For long seconds, he thinks. Plates move, rotating. The golden fingers press together. "_Ah hah! Yes! Seven. Seven people, in all of Creation."_

Kal nods. Silently, he shifts over and sits down on a rock. He reaches over, tapping his left wrist. The omnitool flashes and powers down. Resting his face in his hands he begins swearing, at length, in native quarian dialects.

Wuffles extends his petals, walks over, and open-hand slaps Autochthon.

* * *

...

* * *

There was the light, and the sound of rushing sand, burning air, glass and brass. What was the world of Creation became something else- stretched out into infinity following the strike of the mysterious giant automaton. An eternity, followed by the whirr and hiss of some sort of sorcery and a question of 'what does this lever do?'

The shift was long, painful, and disorienting. Six trained and loyal landing in the middle of a great domed room five days after they were taken in a torrent of light and silver sand. Armed and in armor, their battle with the giant ended and finding themselves surrounded by mortals of many colors, shapes and sizes. But all _mortal._ The Dynasts were _more_ than that, however. And they were armed; in Jade plate and their artifact weapons.

Unarmed, the mortals quickly surrendered. Herded, surrounded, the Dynasts of the House of Mnemon claimed this place- this _Food Court-_ for the Realm. Waiting for orders, discussing in High Realm who was the senior amongst them. They were too distracted- the dome of stars and milky green above them, the demons and mortals they had found of which no Dynast had seen before. The very material of the floor they stood on was alien to them, and the artifacts that the mortals had at their disposal was a type of magic they had never seen before.

So distracted were they that they did not see the mortal who had escaped their attack until he had already crossed the _Court_ they stood in.

The mortal ignored their gaze, their glare. Fearless, he walked past them, to a box- some sort of artifact- which he touched and which dispensed a white bag. Turning back to them, he hops onto a table, takes a handful of the substance inside, and begins _eating_ it.

He touches the back of his left hand. An orange sphere surrounds it, a brace of light surrounding his forearm.

"Hey," he says, in perfect High Realm, "Let me explain this. _I,"_ he presses a hand to his chest, "Am Jeff Moreau. That girl, there?" The dynasts let their gaze wander to where he points. A young woman with red hair and glasses, a spear pointed directly into her face, "Is Jenny Shepard."

He throws another handful of the white, fluffy substance into his mouth. "And this." he says, voice muffled by food, "Is going to be _amazing."_

Mnemon Kurinei has a moment to wonder why the mortal's lips don't move in time with the words he is saying. One hand still on the daiklave in his right hand, he is so focused on the odd mortal that he is caught by complete surprise when the hand grabs his shoulder and whirls him around.

His eyes go wide, catching the details of the face. "Lady Domine-" Which is all he gets out before the fist slams into his jaw and sends him flying over the gathered mortals, over his fellow Dynasts, and head first into a support beam on the other side of the foodcourt.

The other Dynasts turn as the woman cracks her knuckles and rolls her neck. A spitting image of the head of House Mnemon, clad in the same odd blue and black clothing as many of the other mortals, she bares teeth as she stalks towards them.

"Hello there," she growls, "I'm Jane. Which one of you chucklefucks just pointed a _spear_ at my _cousin?"_

* * *

...

* * *

"So." A cough. "What are we doing, and how will _this_ inadvertently end the world?"

Autochthon turns, looking up at Kal. Standing next to Wuffles on the hill clearing the forest, the group stands under the light of the moon. The thunders have quieted, after two days and two nights walking through the thick forest. Either they are far enough away from the giant, or someone stopped it.

Either or. "_I had an idea,"_ the mad inventor ball explains, "_I'm trying to get the attention of one of the people in Creation who I still know. People. Sort of." _The plates shift around the eye. "_Yes."_

Kal glares at the ball, arms folded. Wuffles extends their petals and cocks their head. Kamilla, as always, remains cheerful. "Okay," Kal groans, "Is this one of the seven people who _don't_ want to kill you?"

The iris shifts, narrows. "_Would you like an honest answer?"_

Kal's knuckles crack as his hands ball into fists. "_Right, well,"_ Auto continues, "_This is not one of those ah seven but not because they hated me."_ The iris shifts. "_More that they were terrified of me."_

Wuffles extends their petals. "_We have several hypothesis on the cause of such fear."_

Kal tosses his helmet over to Wuffles, massaging his temples with a loud groan. "Okay. Okay." He sucks in a deep breath as an owl perches on Wuffles, staring at the group. "Okay. Seriously. Okay." Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he turns from Auto and looks up at the moon.

He glances at Wuffles. "Hey, buddy. How long've we been up here?"

"_We have been standing in this spot for three hours, fifteen minutes."_

Kal nods. Turning back to the group, he points at the moon. "And is it me, or has the moon _not_ moved since we got here?"

Auto turns, glancing up with a high pitched warble. "_No! No! It has! It has!"_ A burst of steam from the sides of the globe. "_Well. No, no. Optical illusion at best. See? Anyway."_ The eye dips down and he turns back to them.

"_Well...well. The thing is, we're trying to beseech the favor of a Celestial God. This is, well."_ A cough, the ball bobbing up and down. "_Well, this is not something that is responded to directly. We will most likely receive a dream, or a vision, much like the vision I had-"_

"Wait." Kal raises a hand. "We're here because you had a _vision?"_

The eye nods. "_Yes! Yes, of course! I received a vision of a mad old tramp with silver hair and milky white eyes to come here and stand in the light of the moon!"_ The plates shift into a shrug. "_After all, that's perfectly sensible with the metaphysics. Now it may take some time to get a response so we should probably find shelter or-"_

_ "Holeeee shit_ when did you get here?"

Autochthon turns, the iris opens, and he emits a shriek of the purest, most palpable terror before a pair of hands grab him by the plates.

**-End Chapter 3-**


	4. Like a Metaphor

**The **shriek is long, high pitched, echoing and full of palpable fear. Then it ends, the iris shutters closed like a camera, and the shrieking is replaced with happy laughter. A pair of long golden arms come out of the sides of the sphere and wrap around the new arrival, as his own white clad arms hug the sphere.

"_My dear boy! I had no idea you were still alive!"_

Kal blinks. Wuffles tilts their head, as the owl perched atop it moves its talons. Kamilla claps her hands with a smile. Standing in front of them, hugging the insane sphere, is a man in white, red lined robes; white hair falls down his back and his silver eyes open with a wide grin. "Speak for yourself, old man," he says, rapping his knuckles on the top of the sphere, "Reasonably sure everyone's following the giant robot and thinking," he purses his lips, folding his arms, "'_Hm. Who could that possibly be?'_"

With a laugh, the white haired man throws back his head in a bellowing guffaw. "Half the Bureau of Destiny is having a shit fit," he says with a shrug, "Because I don't think they figured out you lot are operating on a different system."

Kal raises a hand. "Okay. What."

Autochthon clears his throat and an arm gestures to the new arrival. Crossing one arm over his stomach, extending the other, he bows like a showman. His beaded, multicolored beard almost touches the hill they stand upon.

"_Ah, yes. Everyone, this is Luraname. Master of the Five Fold Luck, Agent of the Bureau of Destiny,"_ a cough, "_And one of my _**_finest_**_ creations."_

He smirks. "You flatter me, old man." Folding his arms behind him, he purses his lips, nods, and points. "Kal'Reegar," he says, "Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth, and..." He strokes his chin, and leans forward to be face to face with Kamilla. "And you are?"

A giggle and she bounces on the balls of her feet. "I'm _Kamilla!"_

He cocks a white, bushy eyebrow. "Oh, that means you're one of Adorjan's daughters." He blinks. "You don't happen to be made out of arrows, right?"

She shakes her head.

"What about daggers?"

She shakes her head again. "Nope! I don't have any sisters who are a cloud of blades!" She smiles. "Or _do_ I?"

The god of Luck stares at the girl for a long moment. Clearing his throat, Kal walks over and places a hand on his shoulder. "Excuse me, but _how_ do you know who we are?" The quarian gestures to the sphere. "I guess you'd know _him_, but how do you know about me or Wuffles?"

Luraname gently brushes off the hand, and smiles. "Because we've been looking in on your universe for a while, lad." He shrugs. "The boss'll explain everything, but we've known you came over. Also, I had someone trailing you."

Kal blinks. He glances at Wuffles, then at Kamilla. "Trailing us? Who?"

"_Hoo._" And then Kal notices the silver spear being held to his throat. Luraname shakes his head, and the spear disappears. "I saw a hut a five minute walk from here. Let's talk there."

* * *

.

**Chapter 4:**

**Like a Metaphor**

.

* * *

The eyes of the owl are wise, filled with age and experience that surpass all but a few. It stares into Kal'Reegar's eyes, weighing him, judging him. All he is, all he shall be. All he can be. It meets his gaze- or he meets its gaze- for long seconds stretching into eternity.

And then the owl opens its mouth and spits out a ball of hair and bone, bouncing it off of Wuffles' head and letting it roll onto the wood floor.

Autochthon glances at the owl. Floating across the circular table at the center of the hut, he hovers over Kamilla. There is a flash of gold, a burst of motion, and there is now a helmet on top of the girl's head, with a perfectly crafted perch of the finest metal and leather. The owl hoots, and flaps over to the girl Kamilla claps her hands in glee as Auto floats back over to his stool and glances across to Luraname.

"So," the luck god says, "How do we know about you?" He strokes his beard, back lit by the single fireplace. "Well, that's simple. Two words, in fact!"

Kal shrugs. Wuffles extends their petals. Luraname smiles, leans forward, and speaks. "Garrus. Vakarian."

Wuffles' petals extend fully. Kal's jaw hangs open. The wind makes the door to the hut slam, but neither of them react to it, too busy staring at the god. "_Wait wait __**what."**_ Autochthon flicks over, hovering in Luraname's face. "_How exactly-"_

"She keeps track of all her Chosen, old man." Luraname gently shoves the ball back. "She's let me in on it, too. She knows about your universe and she's been following what has been happening with interest." He clears his throat. "I...am not sure why you came back, to be honest."

Kal rubs the bridge of his nose. "So, wait." He glances at Auto. "This guy's one of those seven who _wouldn't_ kill you right?"

The ball shakes. "_No. No no, the seven who wouldn't kill me are Ignis, the Maidens, and the Emerald Mother."_ He turns back to Luraname. "_I didn't count you because I was sure someone would have melted you down to Starmetal by now."_

The luck god shrugs, leaning back in the rickety chair as the owl hoots. "Pretty sure the Solars were aiming to take me apart to screw with the Loom." He puts his feet up on the chair, cradling his head in his hands. "Well, then the Sidereals and their pet Terrestrials went and killed them all, of course. And _luckily,_ someone burned all the notes on me."

A hand grabs Autochthon by the top, and spins the eye around to face Kal. "Okay. We're just talking at this point. What. _Why._ How?"

"_Well, we've had an awful lot of excitement and it might be a good idea to just sit around and relax-"_

Kal and Wuffles glare at the sphere. "_Yes,"_ Auto says, and turns back to Luraname. "_Right! Luraname, we need to get into Yu Shan. I need to talk to the Incarnae. I have found something horrible, and I need their help to fix it."_

The luck god nods, folding his arms and tipping back the chair to one leg. Luckily, it does not tip over. "Yeah, we figured as much. Once she gets here she can see what she can do."

Autochthon nods. Silence blankets the room. Slowly, he rotates up to meet Luraname's gaze. "_Oh dear. She's coming here."_

Luraname nods. A piece of straw has appeared, gripped between his teeth. "Yep. Flagged her down as soon as I figured out it was really you." He shrugs, as Kal begins to shift in his seat. "I had to confirm it was you, and not some crazy construct that you left behind, you know?"

Auto shifts, darting from side to side. Iris opening and shutting, Kal's eyes fallow him as he begins looking out windows, watching the doors, staring at the fireplace. "Auto," Kal says, "What's the problem, and how much of it is your fault?"

Auto ignores the quarian, flying up to Luraname and staring at him behind a narrowed silver iris.

"_She knows I'm here?"_

Luraname nods. "Yes. She does."

"_She knows I'm __**here!"**_

Leaning back, Luraname shrugs. "Yes. She does."

Wheezing breaths, iris contracting to a narrow point and plates flattening against the sphere, Autochthon floats back. "_**She knows I am here."**_

Luraname nods, looking past Autochthon, as does everyone else as they slowly turn. "Yes," Luraname says.

And then Auto backs up into something. Someone. "I do," the voice behind him _purrs._

* * *

...

* * *

The five standing men and women, covered in some sort of...antique, she guesses she could call it, _antique_ battle armor which she somehow knows has _jade_ in it stare at her. Two of them with puzzled looks, two with veiled hostility, one with utter surprise, as Jane can tell from the wide eyes staring at her.

Still, these chucklefucks pointed a spear at Jenny. And a lot of other people. So she's gonna _whup some asses._ "Welcome to the Citadel," she says, cracking her knuckles, "Let me give you the _tour._"

She stamps her foot against the metal floor. It warps around her, blasting upwards. Golden light pours forth from the keter soul at the center of her being. The disc of the sun spins forth from her forehead. Ribbons of sunlight wrap around her and form into hard light around her, hovering off her blue civvies.

The _name_ of it _screams_ in the back of her mind. **Glorious Solar Plate.** Almost as loud as the word that one of the intruders screams, pointing a sword as big as _him_ at _her._

_ "ANATHEMA!"_

The question of "_Wait a what-"_ dies on Jane Shepard's lips. A man in red plate and wielding a red sword as long as he is tall leaps, swinging it down in an arc towards her head. She kicks off, slamming her fist into the side of the blade. It flies to the side with a room shaking _boom,_ right before she grabs him in mid air, turning and launching him towards his comrades with a _punch._

But he doesn't hit his compatriots. Instead, she watches him slam into and bounce off the pale, pointed-eared woman who has just appeared. While she takes some _joy _in the fact that she just knocked out _Pria,_ she takes less joy in the fact that she can't see where the others are.

Which is when Jane looks up and sees that they are above her. With a yell, they descend upon her, spear, chain, claw and gauntlet bared. "Ah shit," Jane mutters, "I brought a superhero to a _Power Rangers_ fight."

* * *

...

* * *

After several minutes of screaming- with Kal covering Kamilla's ears, Wuffles tilting their head and Luraname watching with a smirk, Autochthon went completely silent. Iris open all the way back, plates all shifted back like he was in a strong wind, and several fans extended to make him look like a..._what's the animal..._a peacock.

Kal tentatively takes his hands off Kamila's ears. The owl tilts its head. Wuffles narrows their iris, and looks up at the new arrival.

"So," Kal says, "Is he...broken or...?"

"No. He's just burnt out his voice box."

Kal lets out a long breath. "Oh praise the ancestors."

Milky white eyes flutter, an immaculate silver eyebrow rising. "I'd say we have a few minutes until he regains self control and starts talking non stop, so..." A faint smile, lips pulled back over white teeth. "Gentlemen. What brings you to this Creation I have sworn to protect?"

Pale white fingers tent in front of their waist. Long, silver hair falls down the back as they walk into the hut, the white and charcoal robes flowing with every motion. Refusing definition, refusing shape. "Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna. Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth."

Milky white eyes meet Kamilla's, and the silver hair falls in waves as they bend down. "And what is your name?"

The girl smiles. "I'm Kamilla."

"Oh. One of Adorjan's? Are going to stab me?"

She shakes her head. "Nope!"

"Excellent." Eyes turn back to Kal as he tilts his head. Tries to get an idea _what_ he is looking at, even as he sits frozen to the stool. "Chosen of Mercury. Speak, please."

He works his jaw. Tries to find the best way to say it, and probably ends up with the worst. "What...are...you?"

This only merits a wider smile. "Oh, that's simple. I'm _Luna."_

The door swings open on its own accord. "It's stuffy in here. Let's get some fresh air and talk." And Luna takes their hands in eighteen of her own, and pulls them along.

* * *

...

* * *

The chain wraps around Jane's arm. She turns with it, hands clamping down on the length and yanking the wielder forward. The young woman in green plate grins even as Jane sends her flying, twisting in mid air and driving her feet into the Zenith's face.

Jane stumbles back, digs her heels in, and swings her fist into the back of the girl. She twists out of the way, whipping the chain around her like a dancing ribbon, and snaps it out. It burns the air, glowing green, vines and moss covering it- and Shepard head butts it, deflecting it before going with momentum and kicking the armor-wearing woman across the food court.

All of this is distraction- the last of the civilians, the last captives of the intruders, have hurried out of the exits. Leaving her and five superhumans she knows _nothing_ about.

"_They're Dragonblooded."_ Like the answer to the question no one asked, Pria appears, floating next to Shepard. "_I honestly have no idea where they came from. But these are Dragonblooded."_

Jane grunts, flowing around a spear strike, meeting a gauntlet with her fist. The golden armor floating around her grinds against a sword and sends sunlight sparks flying. "Pria! Info! Now!"

The spirit nods, clearing her throat. She ducks alongside Jane, bobbing side to side dance around spear strikes. "_Yes, of course. The Dragonblooded are actually similar to the Ardat Yakshi."_

"You mean creepy sex maniacs?"

"_Yes. Well, I mean in addition to that."_ A pair of ethereal glasses appear on the god's face, and she adjusts them, sitting on a floating cushion which appears underneath her. "_Their Exaltations are genetic. Descendants of Dragonblooded have a chance to become Dragonblooded, but the purer the bloodline, the greater the chance. Which is more puzzling, because there shouldn't be any Dragonblood-_"

The lecture cuts off in the form of Pria's scream. The sword slides through her, glowing and making the spirit flash, gasp, and shriek as loud as she can. The red-plated Dragonblooded yells _something,_ pointing his sword at Pria.

"_Oh fuck fuck fuck FUCK,"_ Pria shrieks, "_Spirit cutting charms! They have spirit cutting charms!"_ She flashes and disappears, Jane's omnitool glowing and manifesting Pria's still shaking form. "_Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!"_

Jane blinks. "Wait, the _fuck?"_ She shakes her head and tacks this onto the long list of _Shit Pria and Goto never told her._ "Pria, make yourself useful and translate for me! I need to know what they're saying!"

The five Dragonblooded jump back in unison. Hands held out, they cup them and point them at each other. "_Right. Rightrightright!_" The spirit taps along the length of the omnitool. "_Aha!"_ She looks up, glancing at their opponents, their enemies. "_High Realm. Odd. Anyway, translated and you can now understand what they are saying-"_

_ "FIVE ELEMENT BLAST!"_ The sphere of leaves, lightning, water, and fire wrap around the boulder that appeared out of _fucking nowhere,_ hovering between them and pointed straight at Jane. Pria blinks. Jane takes a step back.

"_Adamant Skin, Shepard! Adamantskin adamantskin adamantskin-"_

* * *

...

* * *

The moonlight filters through the forest as they are lead by the one in front. Kamilla idly pushes Autochthon in front of her as they walk, passing him between her hands like a large, golden basketball. Wuffles walks beside him, the silver owl still perched upon their head. Kal walks, glancing from side to side. Watching. Anticipating.

"Three." Kal cocks an eyebrow as Luna speaks. The voice, as always, is not...feminine. Not masculine. Something not lacking in either feature, but _beyond_ them. "Two." For a moment, he wonders what she or he is counting down to. "One." Kal raises his hand and opens his mouth, but

"_**AAAAA**__AAAAHHHHHHHH there voice box repaired!"_ The iris closes, and the ball shoots up to hover in front of Reegar's face. "_Sidereal, I am __**slightly**__ offended that you consider my being mute something to offer praise to."_ A beat. The iris shifts open. "_I will, however, let this slide as Luna!"_

He shoots past, past Kamilla and hovering in front of the silver haired guide. "_I will admit I am pleasantly surprised that I am not in immediate danger. A pleasant surprise indeed!"_

White teeth shine, and milky white eyes glimmer with promised mischief. "Oh, Maker. You are _always_ in immediate danger around me." A hand taps the top of the sphere. "However, I _have_ been following your journey with interest. Times change, and we change along with them." A light hum, and the forest shifts around them. It becomes lighter, the trees folding outwards.

The clearing folds out into a neat, near-perfect circle illuminated by moonlight and silver candelabras. A table of fine crystal rises from the ground, overstuffed chairs and plush pillows appears in a circle around it. Luna turns in mid step, and in the space of a breath takes the form of a naked, male quarian with silver tattoos covering his-her-its skin.

Reegar, quite sensibly, gags. "I. What?" He takes his eyes off the rather handsome naked silver quarian and asks "Wait what just happened?"

"Look around." He turns, locking eyes with Luraname. Then does so. Then looks around. "Weren't we in a _forest?"_ He turns, spinning as he twists around. He can see something _like_ a forest. In the distance, perhaps, but not _exactly._

"You are new." Luna smiles, the silver-lined asari walking to a chair. "We're in a terrestrial court I've borrowed. I don't think we will be disturbed, and I wanted someplace private." She glances to the owl, and it rises before flying off into the distance.

Sliding into the chair, folding several legs and wrapping a tendril around a cup of still hot tea, the silver veined hanar gestures to the other seats. "So. You had my attention, and now you have my interest. Great Maker, what brings you back to Creation after so many millenia?"

The ball floats over. The bottom opens and unfolds a pair of legs and a skeletal ass, easing it down into a chair as a thin arm with a straw on the end dips into the tea. "_Ah, yes. Good tea. We're here for a very important reason, Luna. I've detected a flaw in the Exaltations."_

The others take their seats. White cloth napkin over his arm, Luraname sets tea in front of Kal and Wuffles, and a cup of colorful juice in front of Kamilla. "A _flaw._" Luna works her jaw. The silver shelled krogan huffs. "I see. Well, that does explain some of it. And you believe you can _fix_ it?"

"_Not by myself. Not as I am now."_ Autochthon coughs. The owl swoops by, landing on the table and picking up a biscuit in its beak before flying back towards the woods. "_I need my tools, Luna. I need the aid of the other Incarnae."_

Luna nods. The human male with the stone-like face and buzz cut white hair smirks. "The latter I can guarantee will be tricky. The former even moreso...but that does explain _more._ You believe your tools would be able to...affect this flaw? Access it?"

Milk white eyes glance to the side. Kal has held his tea in the same position for the past several minutes. "You have a _question,_" the huntress purrs, "And the answer is the same. I'm _Luna."_

Tapping three index fingers together, the white haired woman nods to the golden sphere. "So, you need to get to Heaven. You need your ancient tools. You need the attention of myself and the other Incarnae." A smile tugs at her lips. "Simple enough. For varied quantities of _simple._"

"_We note you said this explained two things."_ Petals extend as they sip their tea. Wuffles folds their hands in front of their head, propping their elbows on the armrests of the chair. "_We understand the erratic behavior of the Exalted is one thing that is clarified. What is the other?"_

Luna smiles, nodding to Luraname. The luck god clears his throat, walking next to his taskmaster. "The god of secrets known to one person has been rather nonplussed, lately." The grin gets just a little wider. "As if some great, world-shaking secret has been found out by someone else, lessening his purview."

"_Which means someone else knew about the flaw."_ Autochthon's iris narrows. "_Oh."_ It shifts, and the legs fold back up into the ball, quickly draining the tea before the arm folds back in. "_Then we need to get to Yu Shan immediately! We must speak to the Ignis Divine at once!"_

Luna holds up a hand. Luraname circles around the table, placing a fresh glass of juice in front of Kamilla as she giggles a thanks. "That would not be wise," Luna states, shaking his head, "Politics are tricky. Changing, ever so. You must first prepare your case and gather your allies. And, make sure that your tools remain in the hands of someone who does _not_ want to see you dead."

Leaning back in the chair, the smile gets just a bit wider, showing more and more teeth. "I will prepare on my end. Luraname will give you a map to the nearest Gate. Because if you want the tools, you need the one other person in all of Creation and Yu Shan who has seen the flaw. And kept it secret for oh so _very_ long."

The iris shifts. Great gears of thoughts turn. And Autochthon suddenly finds that his quest has become much, much more complicated. "_I need __**Lytek."**_

* * *

...

* * *

The steel gives way first, then the mass effect fields put up as reinforcement for the windows, then finally the decorative, vehicle-rated glass which serves as the reinforced wall of the fish tank. Jane Shepard flies through Ryuusei, a high class sushi restaurant in the cleaned up parts of the Zakera Wards.

This is followed by the ground shaking like there was an earthquake, sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor. Then the plants all explode in their pots and stands, wrapping the walls in vines. Then, everything freezes, and finally she notices that the place is on fire.

Groaning, Jane climbs to her feet. The last of the customers have run out. Looking down, Shepard is mildly thankful for that. "And I'm _naked._ Again."

She grunts, concentrates, and the disc on her head glows. The name bursts into her mind, cracks in the air around her issue forth white. **Hauberk-Lightening Gesture.** The blue disc appears, and snaps against her back. The black bodysuit flows out, followed by the plates folding and locking along her. Within three footsteps, she is armored, blue jade and alloy covering her from neck to toe.

"Pria, get your transparent ass into the armor. What did I just get hit by?"

The spirit appears, her head hovering over her shoulder. "_Sorry for the delay, Shepard and...yes! Yes, good work!" _The spirit smiles, rotating onto her side. "_Glad to see you thinking like a Solar. But speaking of which..."_

A figure in white appears on Jane's other shoulder. His features, obscured by the light and fire are obscured, but she recognizes it. It is familiar, from her own memories and those impossibly ancient. "Catalyst?"

"_Pria contacted me,"_ the God of the Relays says, "_And...oddly enough, I know who those Dragonblooded are. The symbols on their armor identify them as House Mnemon."_

"House _what?"_

"_Mnemon."_ The Catalyst folds his arms behind him, cocking his chin up. Great, Shepard thinks. Being lectured by two gods. "_One of the Great Houses of the Realm. They would be from where I and the rest of the Circle came from, but..."_ He taps his fingers, folding his arms across the broad chest. "_But what I am confused about is how they got here..."_

Shoulders slump. The three glance at each other. "_Autochthon?"_ the Catalyst asks.

"_Autochthon,"_ Pria confirms.

"God dammit Autochthon," Shepard groans.

The five Dragonblooded drop down from the rafters outside the restaurant. Craning her neck, Shepard walks out. Cracking her knuckles, she wills open the vents along her shoulders, glowing barrels of the suit's Essence cannons powering up. Still, she thinks, she's going to need _help._

Help which comes in the form of a high pitched, chipper voice which makes a cold lump drop into Jane's stomach. "_WHY HELLO THAR!"_

It drops down from on high, landing on the straining wheels of two full-sized Mako tanks. The Makos themselves are warped, bent upwards into the torso of what was once a shuttle, gutted and twisted, its thrusters all pointed back, its cockpit extended and moved downward into an exaggerated mecha-phallus.

One arm, layered in both hard light armor and uncountable stolen, bought, and traded combat hardsuits, ends with seven long and thin fingers. The other arm ends with a cannon that glows with sunlight. On top of the Geth Colossus head that came from _somewhere,_ the eighteen legged cat-spider-girl waves cheerfully.

Absently, one of the dragonblooded- a girl in black armor and with blue hair- waves back.

"Hi there! I'm Entrepreneurial Iridescent Cecay! Take it away, pilot!"

"Oh god dammit Iri," Jane mutters, "Please don't tell me you gave that to-"

The speakers on the mechanical abomination crackle and Jane once more realizes the depths of the universe's hatred for her. It comes in the form of the same cocky, self-assured voice and the pronunciation of;

"_It's Jokering time!"_

The tall dragonblooded with white, granite skin lifts his arm, forms a spear out of white stone, and hurls it. It flies into the glowing barrel of the warstrider, jams halfway into it, and the arm explodes. The cycloptean head of the mecha turns to the stump, then back to the Dragonblooded.

"_That sucked! You guys suck!"_ Six jets on the back of the giant ignite. "_You know what? RAMMING SPEED!"_

* * *

...

* * *

Sweeping her white hip coat back, Liara T'Soni flops down next to Jane Shepard. Looking down, she sees that the seat itself is one of the unconscious humans that had just been thrashed- 'Dragonblooded', Pria referred to them as. "So." Liara glances over to Jane. "Then what happened?"

Wincing, Jane glares at Karin Chakwas as the older woman dabs on disinfectant on the mass of cuts and bruises that currently form Jane's face. "You know, I _can_ just cross my legs, concentrate and _heal."_

"And if you _do_ that I will sedate you and call it for the utter bullshit it is," Chakwas growls, "You close those wounds as they are and they will be infected, and I will then turn you over to Lawson for whatever ghoulish experiments she originally intended. And besides which, _Liara_ asked you a _question."_

Leaning back on the groaning dragonblooded, she glances down, balls her fist, and punches him in the face. The groaning stops.

"So, Joker managed to run over one of them, and then they started to take apart his...ah..." She rubs the back of her neck. Tali walks over, holding a bottle of turian brandy in one hand, her helmet under her arm and lavender curls bobbing against her shoulders.

"Warstrider," Jane continues, snapping her fingers, "They took apart his warstrider. Grabbed Joker before it blew up and threw Iri at them."

Liara nods. Tali nods, tapping her left arm and opening her omnitool. "Iri grabs one of them, activates some charm. 'Thousandfold Courtesan Calculations' or something, and now I'm down to three. Still too much for me to handle on my own." Jane punches the unconscious dragonblooded again. Tali taps in the term, opening up a glossary she received from Autochthon. Her eyes go wide and her face green.

"Tali?" Jane asks, "Do I even _want_ to know what Iri-"

"No, Shepard. No you _don't."_ Tali then takes a pull from the bottle and sits down next to Jane.

Liara glances to her side. Looking across the walkways and layered streets of the Citadel Zakera Ward. More particularly, at the small fleet of emergency response skycars, and the restaurant with the neon dancing human on top. Which is currently on fire.

"And then," the asari asks.

"And then I had them chase me into that place." Jane points at the burning restaurant, where green vines have broken through the walls. "_Gourmet Earth Meals."_

"I always wanted to go there," Tali mutters, "Show my independence, acceptance. Show that I, a quarian, could eat alongside and join society at large." She takes another pull of the bottle. "But then, you set it on fire."

Shepard blinks, staring at Tali. "Can you even _eat_ the food in-"

"Not. The. Point." For emphasis, Tali takes another swing of the bottle.

Jane winces, partially from the accusation, partially from the disinfectant tipped ministrations of Karin Chakwas. "God, Shepard, you're a worse patient than my ex-husband," the gray haired doctor growls, "And I had to fix his _missing eye."_

Ignoring the dig, Jane mutters and turns back to Liara. "So yeah. They chased me in there, and that's where I ran into Javik-"

"Having lunch with his daughter."

"And the Zakera Ward Kroganball team," Jane says, "Might follow that sport now."

Liara taps her fingertips together, shuffling closer to Shepard. "Have...have we ever determined _how_ Vessae is Javik's daughter?" Clanking footsteps, and the three turn to the sound of the approaching golden prothean. Chakwas does not turn, pressing a wet cloth against a nasty cut on Jane's chin and making the Solar grind her teeth.

"Oh that's simple," Vessae says, flopping down onto one of the unconscious terrestrials, "My core soul is the soul of his daughter. When I was made, it was actually the point, because Deus _really_ needed to get Father on our side."

Tali blinks. Liara tilts her head. "That was a lot less complicated than I thought it was going to bea_ow!_" Jane grumbles. "Doctor, I can heal. They will _scar,_ but they will be _sexy_ scars. At least that's what Goto explained!"

Omnitool chirps. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, wincing as Chakwas dabs her with more rubbing alcohol, she taps it. "Shepard. What is it, Baily?"

"_Commander, looks like it was eight, not six. Two more appeared one floor down and made a break for it. Looks like they got intercepted by one of your team, though."_

Jane narrows her eyes. "Who?"

* * *

...

* * *

It was surprise that hit Mnemon Horak. Surprise at the surroundings. Surprise at the odd environment he walked in. Surprise at the smells, the sights, the sounds. Surprise at the inhabitants, the demons, and the sudden displacement.

Surprise at the mortal who leapt down from the rafters, grabbed him in a choke hold, and proceeded to body slam the fire aspect through a flaming table. The last words he heard before passing out- from both surprise and blunt force- were something about being on the 'Vegatrain'.

While Horak lies unconscious in a pile of kindling and table legs, James Vega has found something else to occupy his time. Still in his hardsuit, elbow against the wall, he grins as the green finger traces down the plates over his pectorals.

"So you are _really_ fine for eighty seven years old-" An omnitool chirps. He brings it up. "Hey, Commander. Get back to you." He closes it, smiling. "So...what you say we _sow_ some roots?"

* * *

...

* * *

There is a flicker of motion, and the wind once more becomes the young girl with golden red hair. Kamilla smiles, gap toothed and bright, and holds up the two items in her hands; a large hooded cloak with obvious stab wounds, and a scarecrow. "Here you go, Uncle Auto!"

In an open field a day's walk from where they met Luna and Luraname, Kal and Wuffles watch. The golden sphere slips into the cloak, a string dropping out of the bottom of the chassis so Kamilla can tie the scarecrow to it. Kal sits on a tree stump, hunched over. Wuffles sits on the ground in lotus position, an owl perched on one of his extended petals.

"So let me get this straight," Kal says, "You're using a cloak, a scarecrow, and a straw wig to pass yourself off as the _God of Bad Disguises?"_

Clad in cloak, scarecrow hanging underneath him, and with a straw wig haphazardly placed on the top of the sphere, Autochthon slides open the silver iris. "_Yes! It is a disguise so obvious that my identity **cannot be mistaken!"**_

The sphere, the mad inventor, turns. Appearing out of...nothing...a great structure of gold and wood and stone appears, both massively twisted and wondrously ornate. Carved symbols along it glow, angled and ancient. "_**My brilliance is unsurpassed!"**_

Whether in response to his disguise, or to the appearance of the gate, Kal is unsure of what Autochthon's pronouncement refers to. But nonetheless, he watches, slowly standing, as golden light flows from the borders of the Gate and becomes a portal of swirling light, sound, and...something else. Something he has no word for.

"_Now,"_ Autochthon says, "_With me, Kal'Reegar, Wuffles. And Kamilla."_ The eye turns down. The side of the sphere opens and a long, golden and skeletal arm snakes out, extending a two fingered hand. "_Would you like to see the world I once called home?"_

Kamilla nods, taking the hand. And the two walk into the Gate and disappear. Taking a deep breath, Kal walks in after them.

* * *

...

* * *

"...**and so the war ends and they take out and kill her."** A sigh, and the shadow serpent clasps its paws with a wistful smile. **"Ah, Ruvelia. How I loved her. Once every week night, twice on Saturnday, three times on Sunday. From behind, no lubricant. While choking her."** The smokey, ethereal black serpent rubs its palms with glee, wrapped around the man's neck and elbows on his head.

Footsteps in the sand lead back to the horizon. Muttering under his breath, cloak tight against his shoulders, Jack Harper once again wonders if everyone hates this asshole as much as he does. "How are you even _here?"_

The dragon shrugs, twirling a tendril. Sand whips about them, passing through its ethereal form and pelting the former Illusive Man in the face. "**Oh, some soul surgery on one of my lesser aspects. If you look carefully, you can see the tentacle I'm puppeting this one with. While he is a crippled, sick retard who runs away like the simpering little bitch he is, Auto-kun does have some wonderful ideas."**

The dragon smiles, a jagged maw of teeth that would be ivory in a normal being. But on him, they are gnawed and weathered marble. "**Although, these puppets are oh so fragile. But I always have _reserves._"** Jack shakes his head, continuing his trek.

Two days of walking. He should find this harder than he does, traveling through a desert which resembles a _moon_ more than anything. Which is better than a dessert that resembles a moon, as he never had much of a sweet tooth.

The dragon continues rambling. On and on, on and on again. A mix of jeers, perversions, tall tales. It is like the voice he had in his head before his transformation, the slow murmur of Indoctrination. Only, instead of the slow and steady voice of the Reapers, it is a voice describing in detail how a pious monk can be turned into a suicidal hedonist.

And then the voice stops. It goes silent, retreats. Jack glances from side to side, walking forward and finding himself still under a night sky, but now walking among wet grass and fruit trees. An Oasis, in the middle of an infinite desert. Or dessert. He wouldn't put it past this insane hellhole to reveal itself to be a gigantic cheesecake.

"A traveller."

He blinks, and there is a woman in front of him. He would guess that she had been formed fully from the silver sands, but that would be less ridiculous than the other options. Green eyes shine behind the silver and brown wraps that are pulled from her face, revealing a timeless, stubborn beauty framed by sandy blonde hair.

The ash robes and white skirts sparkle in the moonless, starless night, against the light of the silver sands. The pail held in her hands shifts from side to side, water splashing over the edges. With every step of worn, once pristine and beautiful shoes, she comes more into focus. More into reality, as does the oasis around her.

Slender hands and long fingers, hardened by the infinite sands but still smooth pull down the wrappings around her head. The long strands of ash and gold frame her face and flow around the broken and varnished remains of a tiara, a crown, that still sits stubbornly upon her brow.

The oasis flows around him. Jack feels the pack he carried become lighter, and turns to see a young man in leathers and cloth lift it from his shoulders, carrying it towards the huts and cabin he sees at the water's edge. Which, like everything else her, was not there a moment ago.

Children gather by the largest of the huts, a dome of wood and cloth. Some barely older than toddlers, some with gray in their hair. A mixture of young men and young women, and he sees them beyond the tent and setting a massive, long table. A quick switch of his sight to another spectrum, and he confirms that, yes, this is _exactly_ what he thinks it is.

"Interesting," the former Illusive Man says, "Where am I?"

"A place of rest and respite," the woman says, her face neutral, her eyes glancing up and down, walking with a practiced gate towards him, "You have been traveling. You don't have the look of someone freshly arrived in the desert."

He nods. Glances, looking her over. Especially as she turns, slightly, so he can get a better idea of..._dimensions._ The Illusive Man has figured out what this is. Who this is. Where most people would attempt to flee upon realizing the identity of the woman, he simply thinks,

_I haven't done one of those, yet._

"My name's Jack," he says with a bow, measured and respectful, "May I ask yours?"

She smiles. Controlled, but polite. A faint quirk in the corner of her lip tells him _all_ he needs to know. "I've had many titles," she says, "But I've been trapped in these wastes so long that none of them _matter._ Please. Call me _Sessi."_

She wraps her hand around his wrist. "Won't you join us for our repast?" she asks, "And perhaps, listen to our story?"

He smiles. "Of course. Lead the way."

* * *

...

* * *

The end of the smooth wooden staff wracks against the floor. It is less to support him, and more to give ample warning he is walking. One hand wrapped around it, the other in a pocket of the gray robe, eyes glance between the young woman walking alongside him, and the endless sea of spires past her.

"I do wonder why you're less than pleased," she says, the jade and silver dragon wing decoration bobbing with each step, "You yourself have talked at length about the trouble she would cause on the throne."

"It is one less _unpleasant_ option, yes. But it is still one less _option._" He shifts the corners of his lips. Smooth stone becomes warm underneath his feet, and the coiled serpent wall decoration moves, greeting them both. Doors ahead of them part to another empty hallway. "Mnemon is enough like her mother to require the same strategies, but her own inadequacies would require extra handling. The Throne, however, would satisfy her ambition enough that we could more easily direct her."

A faint sigh. She turns, cocking an eyebrow. Ignoring her, he stops, turns, and walks past her. Rather than down the hall, he walks to the wood and gold railing on the side. It overlooks this section of the city, this small slice of the grandeur. Rivers of gold run at breathtaking speeds beneath them. Spires pierce the sky, a dome of colors shifting and laid upon shapes.

Green eyes narrow. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and looks. Past the sprawl, past the grandeur and past the essence that permeates this place, he sees the events just as they play out. Just as planned.

"They're here," he says, "Excuse me."

Gripping the wrackstaff tighter, he turns and walks back the way he came, ignoring Anys's shouted question. He has little time, after all.

The Great Maker has returned to Heaven.

**-End Chapter 4-**


End file.
